An Unusual Christmas
by Verkaiking
Summary: Famous actress Regina Mills is coming into town to film a new movie during the holiday season, and Robin Locksley is annoyed. But soon he realizes she's not the stuck-up celebrity he thought she was, and things start to change between them. Will they be able to hold on to each other despite being from different worlds? (Christmas AU)
1. Chapter 1

**_Welcome to this year's Christmas fic! This one is somewhat loosely based on yet another Hallmark movie that I love, because why not?_**

 ** _Also, I should warn you there will be smut later on in this story, so if you're not into that, you might wanna skip it. I'll probably put up a warning when the chapter where it happens is posted._**

 ** _I hope you enjoy this story and have a wonderful holiday season!_**

* * *

Los Angeles likes to overdo Christmas.

It's their way of making up for the lack of winter, her assistant had told her once, and it's quite the accurate description. Twinkling lights on every tree in every park, tinsel and Santa Claus hats on every surface, Christmas trees in every plaza, every mall, every open space, really. Ice rinks are set up, and fake snow, and light shows; even the zoo is decked out in giant sparkly snowflakes and colorful paper lanterns, boasting the entrance to one of the best light displays in the city.

Regina takes it all in as her driver weaves through traffic, heading up to the hills and the refuge of her home. She has spent her last five Christmases in this town, and she can't say she's a fan. Sure, there's always a party somewhere, and someone to party with, and it's not exactly the best way to celebrate her favorite holiday (what with her life being under scrutiny every minute of the day, down to the moments she's out having fun), but it's an easy enough routine, a simple distraction, even if at this point it's more to fill the paparazzi's pockets than her own soul.

This year, though, she won't have to think about any of that. She's (happily) alone again, no relationship to keep under wraps (but enough on display that her publicist, Ursula, can spin it into a career boost) while she tries to hold on to some semblance of tradition, void as it might be.

Her car has come to a stop outside the house, and as expected, there's a swarm of reporters crowding the entrance to the mansion, blocking her path.

"I'm sorry, Kristoff," she tells her driver, "I should've let you know to take the back road. I got distracted."

"It's alright," he tells her. "Where's John? I'll go get him."

"No," she says quickly. "his boyfriend is sick so I told him to go home early, I don't want to disturb them. I'll take care of it."

"You sure?" he asks, and he sounds... wary. No, protective, she realizes, and it makes her smile.

"I'm sure," she insists. "It'll be fine, Mal just announced the casting news, is all."

He _Oh_ s, and nods, and steps out of the car to open her door, giving her an encouraging smile and letting her know he'll be back to pick her up tomorrow at six AM for her flight.

The second she's out of the car, the vultures swoop in.

"Regina! Regina! How does it feel to be both producer and star?!"

"Have you and Walsh discussed your scenes already?!"

"When did you decide to hire Walsh for the lead role?!"

"Is it true the movie is based on a true story from your life?"

"Why did you decide to get Walsh in the movie after he cheated on you last year?"

"Any truth to the rumors that you guys are patching things up?"

She takes a deep breath once she's past the throng of reporters, reaching her door and turning to address them at last.

"You guys never quit, do you?" she jokes, trying to wave them all off, and then one of them asks about Walsh again, his voice squeaky and grating. Regina turns to him, speaks to him directly, but her voice is loud enough for all of them to hear.

"Walsh Ozian is an amazing actor," she starts, "I'm always glad to share a screen with him, and this movie will be no exception, even if he's my _ex_ boyfriend—" she puts emphasis on the "ex", lets her voice lace the word with that hint of annoyance that's flared in her at their presence in her home. "We're good friends, I have no doubt we'll both try our best to give our audience solid performances."

"Does that mean there's hope for you two?" a reporter asks, his gruff voice breaking the rapt silence of all the other vultures, everyone firing questions at her again, most about Walsh.

"He's my ex boyfriend, Leroy, nothing else. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to pack."

She says nothing else, ignores the many questions that ensue, rolls her eyes at the incessant clicking of cameras. Seriously, all they'll get a photo of now is her retreating back, why do they keep going?

The door closes behind her, muting the endless chatter from her unwanted guests, and Regina breathes out a sigh of relief as she sheds her leather jacket, not noticing at first, the giant Christmas tree that's being set up in the far corner of her living room.

"What are you doing?" she asks her assistant, who turns and gives her a determined look.

"This house needs some holiday cheer, Regina, you can't just not have any Christmas tree," she argues.

"Oh, but I can. I told you I didn't want decorations, Mary Margaret," Regina chides, because she's Mary's friend, sure, but she's also her boss. If she tells her not to do something, then Mary should listen.

"Come on, Regina, what's the harm? Look, I've compromised, I'm just doing the tree, no other decorations, just the tree, okay? It's just... it's so sad seeing this giant, beautiful house without at least one thing to mark the season."

Regina scoffs, says, "Fine, but it's only gonna sit here all alone with no one to see it. I leave for Maine in the morning. And I'm taking Zelena to Fiji for Christmas to drink away her breakup, as you well know."

"Yeah, yeah," Mary waves her off. "If you're done chiding me, could you come over here and help me out? I can't reach the higher branches."

And this, Regina realizes, is exactly what Mary wanted. She wanted Regina to help put up the tree. It's not about having it in the house, it's about getting her to participate in Christmas-related activities. On one hand, she's thankful, thankful that her friend still tries to inject some kind of joy to the season for her, to get her in the holiday spirit even when Regina is resilient about not joining in. But on the other hand, it's moments like these that remind her of everything she can't have. Quiet nights by the fire she can never partake in, snowmen she'll never build, mistletoe she'll never be kissed under... it's depressing.

When she signed up for this life, Regina saw what it did to the people around her, saw her friends and family turned into victims of the paparazzi. Daniel, her beloved fiance and the one person who always believed in her, had died because a swarm of photographers had followed him out of their hotel six years ago, causing him to jump into the street in a desperate attempt to outrun them. He'd been hit by a speeding car, left to bleed out on the pavement.

It was her fault. Daniel didn't want the fame, he was the owner of a coffee shop she frequented while she auditioned for anything under the sun, and he was supportive always, but he never wanted the spotlight, he just wanted to be with Regina, and the price of that had been his life.

"Has the director talked to the mayor again?" Mary Margaret asks, interrupting Regina's self-deprecating thoughts.

"Mal? Yes, I think so. He's still against this whole thing, but the council has outruled him and given us permission, they seem very excited for the movie."

"I still don't know if it's a good idea for you to head out there so early, especially after you had me reschedule John's itinerary. What if you meet the Mayor guy and he's mean to you while you're alone?"

Regina laughs at that, shakes her head at her friends overprotectiveness, and tells her, "Keith is sick, changing that itinerary buys John a few more hours with him before he has to spend the next two weeks halfway across the country. And I've met my fair share of bullies in this industry, Mary Margaret, I can handle one grumpy old man."

Mary looks torn, as if she wants to say more, but Regina levels her with a look, and adds, "Besides, my character grew up in the area, I want to get a feel for the place before the crew arrives and transforms the town."

At that, her friend sighs, nods her understanding, and then tells her to pass the candy canes that are going up on the tree.

And as melancholy as it is to remember all that she can't have, Regina finds she actually quite enjoys putting the tree together.

* * *

Storybrooke is... small.

Regina had done her research when she'd taken on the role of producer for this holiday movie. She knows this charming town in Maine has some of the most adorable Christmas celebrations, that snow covers it like a blanket during this time of year, turning it into a picture-perfect winter wonderland; she knows there are quaint little shops and a homey diner and an old fashioned bakery. It's the perfect town to shoot a Christmas movie, she knows that.

But she was not prepared for it to be this small.

She'd spent the night at a hotel in Augusta, and is picked up at the lobby the following morning. Her driver, a nice man by the name of Archie, explains he's not her real driver, "But Anton needed to fix some issues with his greenhouse, and I owed him a favor, so here I am in his stead. I'll be happy to get him on the phone if you want confirmation."

Regina smiles, climbing in the car as she tells him there's no need (the car plates match the ones Mary Margaret had sent to her phone, and she has Archibald Hopper as one of the people Anton listed as backups with the car company).

He's nice, makes small talk with her throughout the drive into town. It turns out he is the town shrink, and he tells her he's best friends with the town toy maker, who also co-owns Bella Notte, the one proper restaurant in town, an italian place where Marco (she's somewhat surprised by that, had half expected the man's name to be Gepetto at this point) prepares age-old family recipes with his brother Tony. Everyone knows everyone, and they all play a big role in each other's lives.

It makes Regina nervous about her character's background, has her wondering if she will be able to connect with the town at all in order to play her, tight knit as they are. But then they cross the town line, and joy spreads through her at the stunning display of Christmas decorations that the community has put together.

Every possible doorframe is decked out in festive garlands, colorful lights marking every window and balcony with festive flare. Decorated wreaths can be seen on the door of every establishment on Main Street as they drive through, the warm glow from what Regina can only guess is dozens of candles and lit fireplaces inviting travelers and family alike to take a look inside and ward off winter's chill.

It's almost like the town itself jumped out of a book, one of those age-old Christmas tales that children often hear while wrapped up in blankets and drinking cocoa. And to Regina, it's a throwback to a time and place where she would enjoy every single detail to its fullest. A time where she wasn't alone and isolated from the beauties of holly and carols and snowy landscapes that somehow warm the soul rather than freeze it.

"Can we stop here, Archie?" she asks her driver, the sight of the old fashioned bakery she'd read so much about startling her from her nostalgic thoughts. Archie nods and smoothly pulls onto the curb, the car idling while he turns and asks her what he can do for her.

"Oh, nothing, you stay here, I got it," she insists, scrambling to remove her seatbelt in her excitement. "I just want to order something for when the crew arrives on Saturday. Some cupcakes maybe?"

His smile warms, pulls a little more at his lips in appreciation as he says, "That's very sweet of you, Regina."

She smiles back, tells him she'll only be a couple of minutes, and hears his _Try the eggnog cupcakes, they're wonderful_ just before she closes the car door, happily making walking inside under the sign that reads _Granny's Bakery._

* * *

...:::...

In the thirteen and a half years he's lived in this town, Robin has never once felt out of place.

He'd gotten used to it fast, thanks in large part to Marian and how beloved she was by everyone here. She was born and raised in Storybrooke, after all, and everyone was excited to have her back after she'd gone out into the world and made a name for herself in the hotel industry.

He'd met her in Colorado, at the very first hotel she'd ever managed. He'd been there for a conference, and from the moment she introduced herself to him, he'd known she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. To his luck, she'd felt the same, and together, they'd formed a bond that transcended distance, until he'd up and moved to the States just to be with her.

Robin has loved Storybrooke from the moment he set foot in it. Years and years ago, Marian had decided she wanted to return home and open a little inn here, her own little slice of heaven where she could put down roots and live happily. He had abandoned his home, his life, even his family (who didn't approve of Marian to begin with, so good riddance to them as far as he's concerned), to settle down with her here, in this picturesque little corner of Maine, and as hard as it was to lose her, he doesn't regret his decision one bit.

It had taken them a long time to build the place, even with Robin using his skills as an architect to redesign the large old house and estate in which they'd spent most of their savings after they got married. They'd gotten pregnant on year three of the project, putting their plans on hold and their income to other uses with Roland on the way, and by his first birthday, the Sherwood Inn had finally managed to open its doors to tourists and friends.

And then leukemia had taken Marian, left Robin broken and alone with a baby to raise. But this town, the town that saw his life with Marian, had made it its mission to be a home for him and Roland even after she was gone. Everyone had stepped in, everyone had found a way to help, and Robin doesn't know where he'd be without the kindness and generosity of these people.

He loves the familiarity, loves that he can go anywhere here and find a friend. Like now, for example, when he's walking into Granny's bakery to grab the customary pies he buys every year to kick off the season. There's a spring in his step, a chipper kind of flutter in his chest as he enters the establishment and takes a whiff of the sweet homey scent of cookies and cakes.

"There you are, I've been wondering when you'd stop by," Granny Lucas greets him. "You got here just in time, I was about to head out to the diner, but I just put your order ready, plus a little something for Roland."

"Oh, stop that, you're spoiling him," Robin says good-naturedly, but she waves him off, tells him it's what Grannies do.

"Help yourself to some coffee on the house while I go get your things, okay?" she invites, spoiling him now, it seems. "I'll be right back."

Robin laughs, but nods and thanks her, never one to reject a cup of her Colombian dark roast. He easily steps behind the counter, grabbing one of the white ceramic mugs and pouring himself a generous splash of the steaming brew. He's just moving to grab the milk and sugar when the bell above the door chimes with the arrival of a customer.

He hasn't even turned to greet the woman and she's already speaking, yammering about ordering some festive cupcakes for her "crew". Her voice is not a familiar one, and Robin rolls his eyes while his back is to her. Tourists.

Plastering on the best smile he can muster, he finally spins around to welcome her into his town, and finds himself falling short.

The words drown before he can utter them, his eyes widening at the sight of her. She's breathtaking.

Sun-kissed skin that looks like it would feel smooth as silk, if he were ever privileged enough to touch it. She's all rosy cheeks and plump lips tinted in red, her hair a travel-mussed mass of raven waves his fingers suddenly itch to run through, long lashes framing eyes so dark and deep, he's afraid if he dives in he'll never come up for air.

She's a little breathless, but still talking, telling him she wants at least twelve dozen cupcakes for Saturday, and asking him what flavors he recommends. "I'm told the the eggnog ones are amazing, but I want to have more than one option."

"Oh," he starts, finally coming to his senses, "I uh—"

"You know what? Doesn't matter, surprise me, I leave that to you. Open me a tab and my assistant will come pay it when she gets here tomorrow, okay? Great, thank you."

She's out of the shop before he can even tell her he doesn't work here, and then Granny is sprinting out the door that leads to the back room, four boxed pies and a little bag in her hands as she pants, "Was that a customer?"

"Yes, she... she wants twelve dozen cupcakes for Saturday, she said her assistant would settle everything with you tomorrow...?" he sounds unsure, because he's not quite certain he's managed to retain the information properly, too focused as he is in the tornado of a woman that has just jumped into the back of a black sedan outside, and it's only when Robin sees Archie in the driver's seat that he understands, and his irritation grows.

He hadn't recognized her without the dramatic makeup and costumes he's used to seeing her in, but there's no mistaking her now that he's made the connection. None other than the star of the movie trilogy Roland is currently obsessed with. She plays the Evil Queen, who somehow turns good and goes on adventures rescuing creatures of the Enchanted Forest.

He'd be a little starstruck if he wasn't so utterly _bothered_ by the reason behind her presence here.

Robin has never liked change. It's part of why he loves living in Storybrooke. Nothing ever changes, and why should it? They have a good life, they all do, there's no point in altering that.

So when the news broke out about a movie being filmed here during the Christmas season, he had been less than pleased, and the walking reminder of that has just gotten into a car and driven off, unaware of just how much she's inconvenienced him.

Beautiful as she is, Regina Mills cannot take away the fact that her movie is imposing on their town during the most important time of the year, that it's interrupting the holiday traditions Robin has seen his son grow up with. It may not be intentional, but it's happening anyway, and he can't shake his annoyance.

It's still bubbling when he arrives at the inn, and it isn't until his son runs out of his room to hug him hello that Robin is distracted enough to let it go.

Roland is all smiles as he peers into the little brown paper bag Granny has sent for him, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open in an astonished smile as he informs, "It's a Christmas tree cupcake, Daddy! My favorite!"

He's four years old, so everything is his favorite, but Robin appreciates the enthusiasm all the same, nods and chuckles as he carefully takes the cupcake out of the bag, presenting it to his joyous boy, who asks "Can I have it now, please?!"

"Not before dinner," Robin insists.

"But what if I promise to eat _all_ my dinner after, Daddy?!" he begs, practically bouncing as he stares at his treat.

Robin hesitates, and his sister chooses that precise moment to come down the stairs, commanding, "Oh, let the boy have his cupcake, Robin."

"Tink," he warns, because he's asked her not to interfere when he's trying to be firm with Roland, especially about this.

But the damage is done, and Roland insists, "See?! Auntie Tink says it's okay! Can I have it, pleeeaaassseeee?!"

"Who's in charge, Roland?" Robin asks, trying to remain firm. "Me or Auntie Tink?"

"Auntie Tink," both Roland and Tink say at the same time, giggling together as she crouches down to hug the boy around his tummy from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder as they both look at Robin expectantly.

Finally, Robin sighs. "Fine," he gives, tacking on a "But only if you promise you'll eat all your broccoli at dinner" amidst Roland's giggly celebration.

"I promise, Daddy, I promise!" his son squeals, and then sinks his teeth into the side of the Christmas tree topping his cupcake, green icing instantly clinging to his mouth and nose as he reports his glee with a very loud "Mmmmm!"

His excitement is so adorably hilarious that it pulls a laugh out of Robin even as he tries to glare at his sister, and she gives him nothing but a smug grin in return.

"He's my only nephew, spoiling him is a requirement," she defends when he huffs in her direction, and well, he supposes he can't argue with that.

The pies have been on the reception desk since he walked in earlier, and he moves to store them now, leaving Roland with his aunt while he gathers the boxes and walks carefully to the kitchen.

Bella Notte caters the Sherwood's entire menu, but Granny is always the one to provide desserts, and every December, Robin orders four specific flavors of pie: spiced cherry, classic apple, mouthwatering pumpkin, and a decadent chocolate and eggnog swirl. They kick off the season, and jumpstart Robin's weekly trips to the bakery for refills. The scrumptious desserts disappear faster and faster as more guests fill up the rooms, and mark the wave of peak tourist season for the holidays.

Routine, charm, and delicious baked goods. It's Christmas. It's home.

It's currently being interrupted by his son's loud squeal of _Look, Auntie Tink, it's her, it's her, it's the queen!_

Robin sighs as he sets the boxes full of pie on the kitchen counter, one hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing up and down. Of course she's staying here, it's the only inn in town. He'd imagined she'd have a trailer, or rent out a house like he's read some celebrities do on small locations like this one, but it seems today is not his lucky day.

As he walks slowly to the reception area, though, he takes a moment, hanging back, unseen, and watching as his son talks to the beautiful woman who's come to snatch away their perfect Christmas.

"I'm Roland Oliver Locksley," he recites, pausing briefly after each name to make sure he got it right. "This is my Daddy's hotel."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Roland!" Regina says, extending her hand to his tiny one and shaking it, crouching down to be at eye level with him. The gesture has Robin's chest expanding with this strange kind of affection he'll never admit to.

"This is my auntie, Tink!" Roland tells her, and Tink and Regina shake hands then, the latter still drawn down to Roland's height as she does.

"Tink?" Regina asks, and Robin sees the way her nose scrunches up in curiosity.

She's... adorable.

"It's Katrina, actually," Tink clarifies, with a laugh that makes her blond waves bounce, "I was obsessed with Tinkerbell growing up, I wanted to be her. My brother would call me Tinkerbell back then because of it and it just... stuck."

Robin grins at her casual explanation. She's skipped some of the details, like the fact that she dressed up as the Disney pixie for Halloween nine years in a row (and forced him to wear a matching Peter Pan costume for at least four of those years), or that the only reason he began calling her Tinkerbell was because _she_ demanded it and wouldn't answer to her given name, but there will be time to elaborate on that later, he supposes.

"I saw aaaalllll your movies!" his son rambles, bringing the attention back to him by grabbing Regina's hand and leading her to the little bench in the foyer. "Well, not all, Daddy says I'm not allowed to watch movies for grownups, so I didn't get to see the one where you shoot people."

He looks positively downtrodden at the idea, and Robin remembers the argument quite well, still stands by his choice to not let him watch that film, and then Regina Mills inadvertently backs him up as she tells his son, "It's okay. The grownup movie wasn't that good, I like the fairytale ones better. Which one's your favorite?"

"The one where you rescue the Dragon!" he says immediately. They're both sitting down now, and he's waving his arms excitedly as he details her own movie to her, dimples on full display as he laughs and raves about his favorite scenes.

"Are the bad guys real, Regina? Were you scared fighting with them?"

"Oh, very scared," she says solemnly, nodding her head at him and saying, "But you remember how I beat them?"

"With the sword of truth!" he screams, and Robin would be a little embarrassed of his four-year-old's pestering if it weren't for the fact that Regina seems to be enjoying herself as she talks to him. "Did you bring it with you?!"

"Sadly, no," Regina laughs, "it's back in Los Angeles."

"But what if the bad guys come to steal dragon eggs like in the movie?" Roland asks, looking bereft at the very thought. It makes Robin smile.

"Oh, I'm sure we don't have to worry about that, Roland," Tink chimes in, "the Queen wouldn't abandon her best weapon if she wasn't absolutely sure the dragon eggs would be safe without it."

"That's right," Regina agrees, with yet another smile Robin that can tell is quite genuine. "And besides, it's Christmastime, Santa protects all the hidden dragon eggs during Christmas, so we're safe."

"Cool!" says Roland, and Regina chuckles at him, a beautiful sound Robin realizes he truly wouldn't mind hearing again.

"Regina, can you teach me how to swordfight?" his son asks then.

"Well, um, I don't know if that's the best idea," she answers, "we'd have to ask your mommy."

And then Roland casually informs her, "My mommy's dead," and the woman stutters an _Oh, I'm... I'm sorry_ , fumbling and looking apologetically at Tink. Robin takes that as his cue.

"Alright, my boy," he interrupts, revealing his presence, "stop hogging Ms. Mills, it's time for us to get your dinner started."

"Oh," Regina says, recognition dawning on her face. "It's... it's you."

"It's me," Robin gives, smiling a little smugly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry or—"

"It's quite alright," he tells her, putting a hand on his son's shoulder and standing behind him. "We lost Marian three years ago. We loved her very much, didn't we Roland?" he looks down at the boy, who nods solemnly.

"Ever since then it's been just us," Robin says, amending "and Tink" when his sister clears her throat indignantly. "And the Sherwood, of course."

"Of course. So um, I take it that means you... _don't_ work at the bakery?" Regina grins sheepishly, trying to endear herself to him somehow in her embarrassment.

It's working.

"I don't work there, no," he answers with a chuckle, ignoring Roland and Tink's confused looks.

"I'm so sorry about that," Regina cringes, and Robin is too charmed by her to do anything other than laugh it off and tell her not to worry.

She sighs her relief, thanks him for being so understanding, and then ruins it all by saying, "That was a horrible first impression, wasn't it? Sorry again, I know we're not very well liked here, if Mr. Mayor Stick-In-The-Mud is anything to go by." She chuckles at her own joke, adds, "I promise you, we're not the jerks he's made us out to be."

Robin says nothing, simply stares at her and lets Roland explain her misstep in between bouts of full-bellied laughter, Tink joining in with a loud guffaw of her own.

"Daddy is the mayor, too," the boy says, and Regina winces visibly. Good.

"God, I'm so sorry," she says again, "I didn't mean to— I just, I know you're not happy with us here and I... I'm sorry."

Robin doesn't reply, merely turns to his sister and says, "Would you show Ms. Mills to her room? I'm sure she's tired."

And then he takes his laughing son in his arms and lifts him up, saying, "Come on, little man, time for dinner. How does mac and cheese sound?"

His giggles stop, replaced by a squeal of "Yes!" that makes Robin smile as he walks into the kitchen, leaving Tink to deal with their celebrity guest.

* * *

The bell at the reception desk dings desperately when Roland is halfway through his meal, and Robin dashes out to the front to address a very big, very disgruntled man with long, bushy curls.

"Where is she? Is she okay? What the hell is the matter with you, why is there no security around here?!" he berates, and Robin instantly goes rigid.

"Who are you?" he asks with distaste.

"Regina Mills' bodyguard, and I swear if you've touched a hair on her head, I'm gonna—"

"Whoa, whoa, easy!" Robin interrupts. "She's fine. She's in her room. Now calm down or I'll call the police!"

The man sighs, taking a few moments while the commotion dies down, and then mumbles, a "You sure she's safe?"

"Yes. She's fine."

Another sigh, and a nervous pass of his hand over his head, the other landing on his waist as he breathes. "Okay. Okay."

"Is everything alright?" Robin asks then, because it occurs to him something might be terribly wrong if Regina's bodyguard is so adamant in finding her.

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah, man, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out. I just don't like letting her out of my sight for long."

That's an understatement, Robin thinks, but says "I see," instead.

"I was supposed to come here with her, but she changed my flight so I could have a day off, and then _that_ flight got delayed, and baggage claim took forever, and the thought of her here alone dealing with a crowd or the paparazzi... it's been a day."

Ah, that he can understand.

"Well, she's alright. There have been no crowds or paparazzi that I know of, I'd daresay she kept her travel plans secret enough that no one found out she was here. She checked in a couple of hours ago and has been in her room ever since."

The man sighs then, relief visible on his face as he takes off his black glove and extends that hand to Robin, who shakes it as his new guest introduces himself. "John Little. Sorry again about the ruckus."

"Are you Santa? Why is your hair so dark?" a tiny, wondering voice chimes in, and both men look down to find Roland there, a yellow dollop of cheese clinging to the corner of his mouth as he chews the last of his bite.

"Roland, I've told you not to talk with your mouth full," Robin remarks, but his hand darts out to ruffle his hair all the same.

"Sorry, Daddy," he says, properly chastised, his eyes still curiously trained on John, who crouches down in front of him.

"Actually," he says, answering his question, "Santa is my great-great-great-great-great-uncle."

Robin has to resist the urge to snort, but gives the man a nod in thanks for humoring his child. Roland stares at him, wide-eyed and gasping.

"Really?!" he asks, and John nods, scratching his beard.

"That's why I look a little bit like him, see?" he explains, standing and slapping his big belly over his clothes, making Roland giggle.

"Alright, Mr. Little, I'll go check your reservation and get your room key, there's freshly made hot cocoa on the counter if you want some, just there," Robin says, pointing towards the pass-through between living room and kitchen.

"Thank you," he says. "And call me John, please."

Robin nods, smiles, and leaves Roland in the company of his new friend while he walks briskly to the reception desk.

He hears them talk while he checks John's reservation on the computer, hears Roland ask him about the North Pole and whether he's been there, and _Do you help Santa make the toys?_ and _Can you tell him I want a big train?_ and _Do you get gifts, too?_

Well, at least someone's having fun, Robin thinks, and fishes a key for John before making his way back to them.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thanks so much for all your comments and encouragement on this story! Hope you enjoy the second installment.**_

* * *

She's too mortified to leave her room after her display in front of the inn owner.

But in her defense, he really _has_ been a stick in the mud with their location permits, and really, how was she to know he was the owner of the Sherwood _and_ the mayor? For starters, what mayor in America has a _British_ accent? And what mayor gets up in the morning, goes into a bakery, stands behind the counter like he owns it, and then goes to his inn to welcome guests?

Robin Locksley, that's who.

"Ugh," Regina says out loud, running a hand over her face (smearing her makeup in the process, but who cares at this point?) and landing it in a harsh fist on the cushy comforter. She's been lying on this bed since she came in, staring at the ceiling and wondering what else could possibly go wrong.

The Sherwood is charming, she'll give him that. Small, and cozy and bursting with traditional holiday cheer. There are garlands and Christmas lights all over the foyer, living room and stairs; pinecones in bowls on the mismatched coffee tables and red-and-green cushions on the armchairs and sofas; there are sprigs of holly expertly placed as accents on the mantle and shelves, and mistletoe hanging from some of the doorways. She'd even seen a beautiful fraser fir by the fireplace, all decked out in reds and golds and twinkling yellow bulbs, the scent of pine wafting around her even as she embarrassed herself further in front of Storybrooke's unlikely mayor.

Her room has all the commodities she could ask for, including a plate of cookies that Tink had kindly dropped off a few minutes ago. It's decorated, too, less so than the downstairs area (just some holly accents on the wooden furniture, a basket of candy canes on her coffee table, and a couple of scented candles in festive red, left for her to light at her leisure), but combined with the homey quality of the place and the heavy snow she can see through her window, it's enough to make the beauty of the season wrap around her like a blanket.

Not that she can enjoy it much, stuck as she is reliving the many transgressions she's committed against the mayor in such a short amount of time.

Sound carries through the wooden walls, and she can hear the laughter of a child (Roland, she wagers) just downstairs, feels the inn come alive and dwindle into silence as time passes, until it's quiet enough that she thinks she'll be safe to go downstairs.

She's wrong.

Regina spots him before she's fully descended, sitting in the big armchair by the fire. She panics and tries to head back up, but the step creaks, alerting him to her presence.

Wincing, she finishes making her way down, walking into the living room and giving the man a timid wave.

"Your bodyguard's arrived," he says by way of greeting. "He seemed pretty agitated over not making it on time and leaving you to fend for yourself. I put him in the room next to yours, he's most likely sleeping now, I'm afraid my son wore him out with all his questions."

That piques her curiosity, and she raises an eyebrow at him as she asks, "Questions?"

"Well..." he says, smiling a little, "Long story short, Roland believes John is Santa's great nephew or something, and he wouldn't stop pestering him for details of what it's like to be raised in the North Pole."

It makes her laugh, even if she still feels awkward around him.

"John played along, I'm guessing?" Regina prods, and the handsome inn owner nods, smiles and tells her that in fact, John was the one who revealed his Clause parentage to Roland.

"Bless that man," she says with a shake of her head. "He loves kids so much. I'm sad I missed that."

"Well, you were hiding," he accuses, and Regina feels her cheeks flush with heat at being caught.

"I'm really am sorry, you know," she insists, because what else is there to say? "I promise you, Mr. Locksley, we'll be out of here before you know it, and then you'll never have to deal with my inappropriate comments ever again."

He chuckles lowly at that, and she ignores the way it makes heat flash through her body. It's hard, though, with how attractive he is, especially with that green henley that hugs the muscles of his arms quite nicely as he walks toward her.

His eyes are blue and endless, crinkled at the corners and sparkling under long lashes, lashes that are barely a shade darker than his caramel hair and the gray that streaks it at the temples. His teeth are straight and white as they sink into the lower half of his smile, one of his hands rising and stretching, open, in her direction.

"Things were a bit rocky between us, yeah? How about we start over? Robin Locksley."

She smiles, relieved, and shakes his offered hand with a breathy, "Regina Mills."

His skin is warm where it touches hers, and that flash of heat is harder to ignore now. Still smiling, Regina withdraws her hand from his, nodding her thanks when he offers her a cup of hot chocolate.

"Regular or white?" he asks her then, and Regina tells him _Regular, please_.

"Good choice," he praises as he heads into the kitchen, gesturing to the stools on the living room side of the pass-through. She takes a seat and waits, smiling at him a few seconds later when he shows up on the other side, doing an exaggerated bow and addressing her as _Your Majesty_ as he sets about pouring hot chocolate into red mugs. She knows he's only joking, of course, but still can't help the little glare she throws his way after he calls her by her old character's name.

"What?" he asks in mock innocence, and Regina raises her eyebrows and gives him a pointed look. He chuckles, then says, "Oh, come on. I think deep down you like being the queen."

"What makes you think you know me so well?" she fires back, unable to hide her smirk.

"Well, for one thing, I'd be charred to a crisp right now if you didn't. I've seen your movies, I know you can conjure fireballs," he answers, and she laughs at that.

"You're lucky you're pretty," she tells him. And when Robin grins and bows again in response, and says _Why thank you, Your Majesty_ with his eyes focused entirely on hers, Regina tells herself that she is _not_ growing fond of the moniker. Nope. Not at all. Least of all because it's his voice that utters it.

"Now," he starts, shaking the whipped cream dispenser and squeezing out a good amount on top of each mug, "hold on while I get my secret ingredient."

He winks at her then, and Regina finds herself charmed by the action despite her best efforts to keep him at arm's length, grins at him in a way that feels overly flirty as she tells him "Hurry back or I might drink it."

Robin laughs softly and turns away from her, opening one of the cupboards while she watches him. He's not gone for long, but it's enough for her to detail him a little more, running her appreciative gaze over the back of him. He's got a nice ass, she can't deny that, his jeans fit and frame him perfectly, and there's a sliver of skin just above the waistband that peeks and taunts her when he stretches up to grab something from the cupboard, has her staring perhaps a little too long before her eyes drop back to his ass and rake up. His back is broad, muscular just like his arms, and god, this is not the time for her to be crushing on him, on anyone, but he's attractive and, despite their shaky start, quite kind. She hasn't met a truly kind man in a very long time.

It's cinnamon, the secret ingredient. He sprinkles it over the whipped cream carefully, focusing on the task at hand before he deems his creation ready and hands her the red mug with a flourish.

Regina laughs, accepts the steaming cup and holds it in both hands as she looks at him expectantly.

"Well, try it," he presses, and she takes a tentative sip of her drink, lapping a bit of the cream and _Mmm_ ing at the kick of the cinnamon on her tongue.

* * *

"I'm not a stick in the mud, you know," he says after a while, when they're back in the living room and the silence stretching between them has gone from comfortable to loaded. The whipped cream has melted into her chocolate by now, and Regina moves her mug in circles, watching the little bits of cinnamon swirl in the beverage as she feels her cheeks going red once more.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes yet again, frustrated at her own inability to keep her mouth shut in front of strangers, especially if that stranger might turn out to be the mayor she's criticizing.

But he's waving her off, telling her, "It's fine, I'm not angry. I just... wanted you to know that I'm not as annoying as you think I am."

"But you still don't want us here," Regina insists.

"I... I have a special kind of love for this town. I got married here, saw my son born here, built a life here, buried my wife here; and these people, they're... they're not just my constituents, they're my family. Storybrooke's been my home for thirteen years, Ms. Mills, and the best part of all those years has always been Christmas. I think I'm allowed to feel a little off when that tradition is interrupted, don't you?"

Regina sighs, nods in acquiescence and tells him, "I suppose so, yeah."

"I don't hate you. And I'm glad that our town is being featured in your movie, we could use the tourism boost," he winks in her direction, and it has her smiling again.

He's a charmer. What with that accent and those eyes, that voice and those dimples. But there's something, a kind of... innocence, she thinks. He's unaware of his effect on her (on women in general, she'd imagine).

"So... how did a British man end up the mayor of a little town in Maine?" she asks, genuinely curious.

"I was born in the States, actually," he surprises her. "My parents were from Boston. We moved to England when I was just three months old, though, for Mum's work. I grew up in St. Albans, on the outskirts of London. By the time I moved back to the States, the accent was set. Same for my sister, though she was born there, so it makes more sense for her to have it, I suppose."

"What made you move back?" she prods, and he gives her this wistful half-smile that tells her she's hit a nerve, but he answers her anyway.

"Marian," he whispers, looking into the dying flames in the fireplace. "This is her home. I simply followed."

He tells her more, relates his life to her in a voice that was made for telling stories, whimsical and low and pure, wrapping around every detail with reverence. She asks question after question to keep him talking, to keep that rough timbre going as she watches him.

He tells her of his Christmas traditions, of his son's obsession with Santa's sleigh, of the town's tree lighting ceremony (the boyish excitement in his tone makes her sad she wasn't here a week prior so she could witness the event for herself), and regales her with tales of the townsfolk. Granny and her bakery, Marco and his restaurant, even talks of a man named Jefferson and his hat shop.

He tries to engage her in conversation, asks about her own traditions, her upbringing, what made her decide to become an actress, what she loves about it, and Regina finds his genuine interest quite refreshing as she answers his every question, even adds in some fun stories of her own that she's not sure she's ever told anyone before. Genuine anecdotes of her life rather than the practiced answers of pranks on set or potential conflicts with costars.

By the time her hot chocolate has been fully consumed, they're both sleepy, and there's an underlying flirtatiousness that comes with that pleasantly drowsy feeling. She smiles more than usual, and he kisses her hand at the foot of the stairs, a gesture that would look ridiculous and cheesy on anyone else, but with him it's nice, sweet. Makes butterflies erupt in her belly.

"Good night, Your Majesty," he tells her, and this time, she laughs at the name, shakes her head in mock annoyance and keeps her hand in his as she slowly starts walking backward up the wooden steps, her arm stretching to maintain the contact until it can do so no longer.

Only then does she whisper, "Good night, Robin," and indulges in a few seconds of his beaming smile before her hand drops and she turns away, practically floating up the second half of the stairs and all the way to her room.

* * *

Mary Margaret arrives the following morning, and together they begin to prepare and fix last minute issues on the set (this is Regina's first time as a producer, after all, she wants everything to work out perfectly). There's a lot to be done, but Regina finds that she greatly enjoys being behind the scenes, arranging everything, shaping her movie the way she wants to. Mal Drakos, her director, is a close personal friend, but Regina wants to impress her nonetheless, wants her to have a good time making this Christmas film. So far, she thinks, despite the setbacks, everything has been running smoothly enough.

Her breaks are full of Robin and Roland, of more hot cocoa by the fire, of girl chats with Tink about Hollywood and its glamorous lifestyle. Tink seems to get along insanely well with Mary Margaret, too, and has even decided to set her up on a date with David, the owner of the local lumberyard. Regina has never seen her assistant so giddy.

For her part, Regina enjoys her time with Roland, learns about their Christmas traditions from his view. One morning, he drags her to the inn's Christmas tree and tells her its story; how he's a big boy now so he gets to pick the pine that will go in the living room, "And then we get aaalll the guests to help us put the lights and the ornaments on! And Auntie Tink makes new ornaments with the kids staying here and then we put them on the tree, too!"

"I'm sad I missed that," Regina tells him when he mentions it, and Roland tells her it's not a problem.

"You'll be here for the snowman competition! That's even more fun than the tree! But we never win because ours looks like a blob."

He sounds a little deflated at the concept, but resigned to the less than wonderful fate of his snow figure, even after Robin interrupts with a "Hold on a minute, young man. Our snowman does not look like a blob."

"Yes it does, Daddy," he insists, sounding stern. "We always lose because it's a blob."

"Oh, you're discussing the Locksley family snowman, are you?" Tink drops in, a tray full of steaming red mugs in her hands.

Robin rolls his eyes at her, looks at Regina and insists, "It's not a blob."

"Yes, it is," Roland and Tink say at the same time, and Regina laughs.

"I'm inclined to believe them," she informs Robin, chuckling at his grouchy expression.

"But you'll come see it, right, Regina? Even if it's a blob?" Roland asks, sounding so hopeful, those big puppy eyes trained directly on her.

"Of course I will," she promises, and the boy cheers, both hands fisting and pumping up into the air before he busies them by grabbing one of the mugs his aunt has just deposited on the coffee table. It's hot apple cider, cinnamon sticks thrown in to stir it as they talk, and Regina tries to stay focused on Roland's endless chatter, even as she steals glances at his handsome father, who meets her gaze with a smile until Tink very obviously laughs at their quiet flirting.

* * *

Production begins on Saturday morning, and it all goes downhill from there.

It'd been easy for Regina to fool the press and fly under the radar, and she's had a whole week of no photogs or nosy reporters, but that's over the second Walsh arrives in Storybrooke, accompanied by Mal and the crew.

He's staying at the Sherwood, too, Mary Margaret informs her, and Regina frowns, because she knows why he's doing this. He wants her back, wants the boost of popularity from their relationship again, and she's done with that, refuses to indulge him any longer, but that doesn't stop the dozens of reporters John has to shoo from the outside of the inn every morning, vultures waiting to get a picture of them together and spin fake stories of a reconciliation.

Robin's mood has gotten progressively worse as the days have passed. He walks around with a perpetually angry pout, slams books and paperwork on the reception desk, yells at the photographers outside and even rolls his eyes at the female guests who fawn over Walsh when he walks around the inn.

Regina, for her part, has tried to keep things running smoothly. She keeps Walsh as secluded from the paparazzi and fans as she can, so as not to add fuel to the fire, and maintains a cordial relationship with the reporters while promoting her movie, sticking _only_ to that promotion while she handles everything behind the scenes. And still, it is not enough.

On their very first day of shooting, they run three hours late, which results in the whole town watching as they film the last scene of the day. Robin is one of their sulkiest spectators, his frown visible even from where Regina stands two miles away, ice skating in random patterns and rehearsing her lines while Mal has a talk with Walsh about his approach to the character's speech. He's playing an innkeeper, ironically enough, had tried to bond with Robin over it when he first arrived, and Robin had been nice enough, even given him a few pointers, but Regina could tell he wasn't altogether comfortable. And it makes sense, she supposes, considering he's not a fan of this movie being made here to begin with. She knows now how much he values Christmas, how much he looks forward to spending it amidst all the traditional flair with his family.

And speaking of, there's Roland now, arriving at the ice rink with Tink trailing not far behind. He's all dimples and smiles as he waves frantically at Regina, and she can't resist the urge to go and greet him.

She hasn't done any ice skating in a while, and it's curious, really, how easily she's taken to it, how the skill is embedded in her limbs as she glides over the ice to the edge of the rink, pausing just short of the bannister where Robin is slouched over, glaring at everything.

She opens with "I'm sorry," and a grimace, promising, "We should be done very soon, it's just this last scene, I really thought we'd be done by now, I'm—"

"Sorry, yes, I know," Robin finishes for her, his tone clipped, but it seems his sulky mood isn't exactly directed at her, moreso at Walsh. "Does he always have to... flaunt like that?"

Regina responds with nothing but a raise of her eyebrow. Walsh doesn't flaunt. He's charming, outgoing, and yes, maybe a little over the top sometimes when interacting with fans, but Regina wouldn't consider any of that flaunting.

"Never mind," he excuses, "I'm just... in a bit of a mood."

 _I'll say,_ Regina thinks.

"He's nice once you get to know him," she presses. "Everyone else seems to like him."

"Yes, including you, I've heard," Tink chimes in. Regina blushes, but grins at her nonetheless.

"We're friends, nothing else. Not anymore," she clarifies, and as if to disprove her statement, Walsh is suddenly there, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"We're ready to go, babe," he says, planting a big wet kiss on her cheek before winking at Tink and high-fiving Roland. He gives Robin a short nod and a smile, then skates away, back to the center of the rink where the crew await to finish the scene.

Robin rolls his eyes at Walsh's retreating back, and Regina tries to tamp down the little thrill that rushes through her at the action, because no, it cannot be that he's jealous, can it? And since when did she decide to have such a dumb schoolgirl infatuation with this man to begin with? It can't be, they're from two different worlds, she needs to stop being so ridiculous.

Still, something in her prompts her to reassure Robin, her hand settling on his arm as she reiterates "Just friends, I promise."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Regina," he says sourly, and she huffs out a breath, ignores the cameraman and Mal calling her name and stares Robin down until he cracks.

"Just friends?" he asks, sounding hopeful.

"Just friends," she confirms with a nod. And she doesn't know if it's the cold air, or the endless bouts of holiday cheer, but for some reason she finds herself adding, "Don't worry, you're still the most attractive innkeeper in town."

He cracks a smile at that, asking her, "Is that so?" and widening that grin with her answering nod before Roland pulls her attention away.

"Regina, who is that? She's so pretty, can I meet her?" he's asking, casting a hopeful glance at the other side of the rink, where Mal stands with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at her sternly.

Right, they have work to do.

"Tell you what, I'll go finish this scene and then I'll bring you over, okay? You can invite her to that snowman competition you were telling me about."

At that, he deflates, telling her in an almost pathetic little voice, "I don't think we're doing the snowman competition this year."

"What?! Why? You were so excited."

"The competition always takes place in the big lot behind Granny's bakery," Tink explains, and Regina winces, chances a look at Robin and finds him staring intently away from her, his lips set in a scowl.

She can't blame him. It's her fault. Because Granny's is just a few steps away from where they're filming, and the crew has taken up all of Main Street in preparation for shooting today, leaving no room for anyone to get through to the competition area.

Sure enough, when she turns and finds the little bakery, Regina finds the 2017 SNOWMAN COMPETITION TONIGHT! sign, barely visible under the scaffolding that the crew has put up to make their little set.

Fuck.

"Wait here," she tells them needlessly (there's no way around, they can't exactly move from there), then runs to Mal, bracing herself.

"We need to wrap for the day," she says, wincing when her friend reacts.

"What?!"

"It's the snowman building competition and we're in the way. Please, Mal, I've already messed up their holiday by bringing my movie here, let me give them this."

"Are you sure it's not because you want a piece of Mayor Handsome over there?" Mal asks with a raise of her eyebrow, and Regina feels a traitorous blush color her cheeks even as she denies it.

"I promised him we wouldn't interrupt their Christmas. I've been failing at keeping that promise."

That sees to soften her friend's harsh tone, has her sighing and conceding, "Fine. But this is gonna set us back to the 23rd, maybe even Christmas Eve. The crew won't be happy."

 _I'll handle it_ , Regina promises, then smiles when Mal nods and turns to call out "Alright, everybody, you've all worked hard today, let's take this back up in the morning."

Groans are heard throughout, but nobody actually protests. They respect Mal, admire her, and it helps keep the group together in their work.

The set is cleared in record time, and then the town swarms in, walking briskly towards Granny's bakery. The sun has gone down now, but there's plenty of light out in the empty lot, lamps placed all around casting a cold, white glow over the landscape. At least two feet of snow sit over the ground, undisturbed and waiting to be turned into snowmen, a giant banner with the contest title hung right above the back down to the bakery.

"You know the deal," Granny says gruffly, "best snowman wins a three month supply of pie in any flavor of your choosing. Everyone ready?!"

The crew have also made their way to the bakery as well, admiring the town's little quaint traditions, as they call them, and watching everything with tourist-like interest.

Regina, for her part, is looking at Robin and Roland, smiling while they pick out a proper spot and then announce to Granny Lucas that they're ready to go. The rest of the contestants assemble around them, lining up to either side to form a half circle, each group of participants gathered around a big snowy patch of land and waiting with excited grins on their faces.

Granny does one last survey of every team, yells out at a man called Leroy that he better not try to cheat like he did last year (he looks so scared of Granny's wrath that Regina itches to know how he broke the rules last time), and then yells out a loud, raspy "Begin!"

Robin and his son get to work immediately, but the man catches Regina's eye for a moment before he begins, mouths a _Thank you_ that shouldn't warm her heart as much as it does, and then winks before he joins the boy in building a giant snowball.

Tink saddles up next to Regina then, grinning at her brother and nephew as she watches them. "They're adorable, aren't they?" She asks, and Regina says nothing, merely continues watching, waiting for the other woman to say what's really on her mind.

"I love my brother more than anything," she finally announces. "I know he can be a pain in the ass, but I love him."

"He's not a pain in the ass, he's—" Regina starts to defend, but stops when Tink smiles smugly.

"He's what?" she prompts, looking very proud of herself.

"Just... he's nice, is all," Regina finishes lamely, avoiding the younger woman's gaze.

Tink only gives her an _Mmhmm_ in return, then turns her eyes back to the competition.

"Join us," she tells her, and Regina turns away from the chaotic excitement to stare at the woman, who only smiles and insists, "Help us build a snow blob."

In the distance, she can hear the repetitive chorus of _Aunt Tink! Regina! Come help us!_ coming from Roland, and she wants to. Oh, how she wants to, except...

"No. I couldn't, this is a family thing, you should enjoy it the way it was meant to," Regina decides, but Tink is shaking her head.

"Come on," she presses, "you'll enjoy it, I promise. Bring your director, she looks like she could use some holiday cheer."

She gestures ahead with her chin, and Regina follows the direction of the movement until she finds Mal on the other corner of the lot, staring at the entire event like it's burned her.

Regina turns to John then, finds him smiling at her. "Go on then," he encourages, just as Roland yells out another _Hurry up, Regina!_ and waves her over frantically. "Believe me, I know how hard it is to say no to that kid."

"I did promise him he could meet Mal," Regina agrees, and Tink tells her that's perfect then, that she should go get her, and skips away to join her family before Regina can reply.

It takes some begging, but Mal finally gives in, following Regina out to the mountain of snow that Robin and Roland have started to shape into a ball, while Tink works on a second, smaller ball right next to them.

"How can we help?" Regina greets, and the boy jumps up with glee, hugs her and tells her he has to find things to make the snowman's face and buttons. And then he sees Mal, and shyly waves a hello.

"Oh, right, Roland, this is my friend Mal, she's making our movie. Mal, this is my friend Roland."

To her credit, Mal loses the bitchface, lets it melt into a smile as she takes Roland's hand and gives him her name. The child wastes no time, kisses her hand instead of shaking it, and says, "Regina, she's even prettier up close."

They all laugh at that, even Robin, who shakes his head at his son and then hurries him up with, "Alright, enough flirting, young man, chop chop!"

But the charm has worked wonders on Mal already, and she's letting the boy lead her to the back of the snowball they've been working on.

Robin gives his son another headshake, but it's amusement that shines in his eyes when he turns and meets Regina's gaze.

"It appears my boy has a crush," he informs her.

"I might feel a little jealous," she admits, burying her gloved hands in the snow and picking up some to add to the little mountain he's still rounding.

"Ah, yes, you're sloppy seconds now, I'm afraid," he jokes back, and they both laugh at the silliness of it all.

"Actually, I don't think I mind," Regina confesses, looking over at Mal, who has now taken to helping Roland pick out twigs to decorate the snowman. "I haven't seen her smile like that in a while."

"Then it appears it was all for the best," Robin says, sounding a little breathless as he moves around the giant mound of snow and adds more and more, shaping it and making it bigger with Regina's help.

Except when they're done, and Tink has placed the second and third big snowballs on top, and Mal and Roland have decorated it, their snowman doesn't look like a snowman at all.

"You were right," Regina gives, looking at Tink and then smiling down at Roland, "it is a blob."

The boy looks deflated, stares somewhat bitterly at their messy mounds of snow, lower lip jutting out in a little pout.

"We're gonna lose again," he says, resigned to his fate.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Mal interrupts, crouching down in front of Roland with a mischievous grin. "What do you say we cover this blob up with some things from our wardrobe department? Make him look cool."

Roland gasps at that, screams an excited _Yes!_ that has them all laughing.

"Alright, let's go," Mal orders, and they follow gladly.

But before they get to the wardrobe trailer, Regina's phone goes off, and she tells them to go on without her. Robin, however, hangs back, and stands a few paces away while Regina takes her call.

"Regina, darling!" she hears on the other end, and smiles at Zelena's greeting.

"Hey! Are you all packed? How many bathing suits are you bringing? And please, don't say they're all green," Regina says, mocking her friend's taste for all things emerald. But then she hears Zelena hesitate, hears her stutter something she can't quite catch, and knows exactly what the call is about.

"You're not going, are you?" she asks.

"I'm so sorry, but... Greg showed up here with flowers and a ring and, well... we're engaged!"

"He cheated on you, Zelena," Regina reminds her.

"That's all in the past now," her friend says, sounding a little defensive. "We love each other, it's going to work this time."

Regina has heard this so many times now. Greg Hades is an ass, and he'll prove to be just that and break her friend's heart again before the new year.

"Uh, huh," is all she says, and hears Zelena blab about how romantic he was, how thoughtful, how sweet, how he begged her to take him back (Regina highly doubts that), how they love each other so much they're going to do it right this time. They'll go to couples therapy, he'll take her to meet his family this Christmas, they'll go to spin classes together and move into his apartment while she plans the wedding... all ridiculous tales of things that will never happen.

"I'm happy for you," she says, because there's no point in telling Zelena that her boyfriend is an asshole. She's told her that plenty of times, not once has she listened.

"I really am sorry about Fiji," her friend says, and Regina waves her off, tells her not to worry and to have a fabulous Christmas, to which Zelena replies with a "You're the best. Thanks so much for understanding. I'll see you soon, maid of honor!" and then hangs up before Regina has a chance to refuse.

Silence hits her then, the deafening kind of silence that loneliness brings. It shouldn't affect her like this, she's used to being alone, but in the span of two minutes her holiday plans have turned from sunbathing on a white, sandy beach sipping mai tais with her best friend to ordering takeout for one in her very big, very empty LA mansion that she'd refused to decorate.

Christmas is going to suck. And normally she'd be fine with that, has long since given up on the idea of a white Christmas with a family and friends and all the trimmings. But dammit that trip was supposed to be her escape, especially after spending time here in Storybrooke, looking at all the things she's missing, and she doesn't get to have it.

Tears brim and spill before she can stop them, running down her cheeks as she sobs into the night, and suddenly warm strength wraps around her like a blanket, a deep, soothing voice asking if she's okay, asking what's wrong.

Right, Robin. She forgot he was even here.

Mortified, Regina tries to clean the tears away, wipes frantically at her face with gloved hands and attempts to breathe and calm her nerves enough to address him. But she can't talk, can't really voice what it is that has her so unbelievably _distraught_ about this whole situation. Instead she just cries.

And then he's moving her, coaxing her to walk with him just a few paces away, until Regina hears the familiar squeak of her trailer's front door as it opens, and looks up with what she is sure is a red and puffy face to thank him.

She's not expecting him to follow once she climbs up the three little steps and into the trailer, but follow he does, asking her once again if she's okay, if she wants to talk about it.

"I'm sorry," she sniffs as she sits on the couch and takes off her gloves, Robin joining her by taking the spot on the other end. "I didn't mean for you to see me like this."

Her hands are now fiddling on her lap, and then his own hand is right on top, warmth seeping into her skin as he tells her, "It's quite alright. But if you care to tell me what's wrong, maybe I can help?"

She huffs at that, because, "It's stupid," she tells him.

"Nothing that has you this sad could be stupid. Regina, let me help," he insists, gripping her hands tighter and looking at her with nothing but concern and affection.

"You can't," she whispers, giving him a watery smile. "Unless you can get my best friend to un-bail on our travel plans."

He _Ah_ s, then rubs his thumb over her knuckles and sympathizes, "I'm sorry."

Regina shakes her head, reminds him, "It's not your fault."

"I know, but... I've decided I quite detest seeing you cry."

"I shouldn't," she says, bowing her head to look at their hands on her lap and revealing her the extent of her stupidity as she continues, "I should be used to this. I spend Christmas by myself in LA every year, it's not a hardship, it just is what it is, and I'm fine with that. I just... I thought I wouldn't have to be alone this year, you know?"

"You don't have to be," Robin tells her, and Regina shakes her head.

"How much do you know about me?" she asks him then, decided to unload her entire life's tragedies to him if he'll let her.

"Not much beyond your work in those fantasy movies my son loves so much," he answers with a lopsided little grin.

"I grew up in a town much like this one," Regina begins, "my mother left us when I was very young, but my father... he was special. I never wanted for anything, even when we were at our worst. I had friends, and a parent who loved me, I had a good life. And when I decided that I wanted to be an actress, Daddy supported me, told me to follow my dream, that he would be proud of me no matter what. He died of MS a couple of years after I moved out to LA. He lived just long enough to see me in my very first movie."

She sniffles at that, because god, she misses him so much sometimes.

"It's been ten years and I still cry when I smell gingerbread cookies," she confesses, "they were his favorite. He loved Christmas."

"Oh, Regina," he moves closer, as if to hug her, but stops when she continues talking. It's impolite, she realizes, to cut him off like that, but now that she's started, she can't keep the words from tumbling out of her.

"I met Daniel when I first got to LA, he owned a coffee shop near where I lived. We took one look at each other and it was... instant."

She tells him then about Daniel, about the accident. She's never talked to anyone about this before, had always kept that pain hidden, and finds that it feels _good_ to talk about it, to talk about it to _Robin_ , who nods and grips her hand tighter, runs that thumb over her knuckles again and again, moves closer and wraps his arm around her as she finishes her tale.

"After that I just... withdrew. It was easier that way. Safer for everyone, you know?" she says, her voice tired, her nose and cheeks puffy. He nods, and hums, and runs his hand up and down her arm as he hugs her closer for a moment, then moves away, turning so that his side is against the back of the couch as he looks her straight in the eye.

"After I... lost my wife, I felt like that for a long time. I felt like her death was my fault, that I didn't do enough to keep her."

"I'm sorry," Regina whispers, and he gives her a sad smile in return.

"I would've walked through hell to be with my Marian again, but... when I finally admitted to myself that she was gone, and that she was never coming back, I had to let that guilt go."

She nods, understanding exactly what he means. "I have tried to let it go, but... sometimes it just hits me that he was killed because of me. Because he loved me."

"You made him happy, Regina, there's nothing to regret about that," he soothes.

"I suppose you're right," she admits, cuddling closer into his embrace. "I just feel so alone sometimes. Particularly this time of year."

"Then stay," he offers. "Spend Christmas with us."

That gives her pause, has her pulling back from his arms to look him in the eye.

"Robin, it's your holiday with your family. You've made it very clear you don't like to interrupt traditions, me staying would do exactly that."

"I don't mind," he says, and he has to be lying. Has to be. He's made such a big deal about this movie and the way it intrudes on everything, he can't possibly mean it.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do," she starts, "but I don't need your pity, and we both know you'd rather not have to see me again after this movie is done, so let's just—"

"Regina," he stops her, both hands holding hers on her lap, those eyes shining in their infinite blue as he moves in close and says, "I want you here."

He's so close, and so attractive, and his touch is doing things to her, so before she can think twice about it all, Regina throws caution to the wind and kisses him.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

The kiss is unexpected, but welcome. She is fire and tenderness at the same time, her breath fanning over his face as she exhales and lets her mouth linger on his. It doesn't deepen, doesn't move, is no more than her lips puckered perfectly over his own, but it ignites this need in him, this desire for more.

He hasn't felt like that in years.

So he kisses back, follows her lead once the initial shock wears off and presses back into her, his hand cupping her cheek. It's an innocent exchange, nothing risque, but when they part, he's smiling like a fool as he looks at her.

She's flushed and a little embarrassed as she whispers, "I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry."

"No," he says, and she looks ashamed when his hand falls from her cheek, so he clarifies, "Don't apologize. In fact, I'd quite like you to do that again."

He grins at her, and falls hard for the way her frown smooths out into a smile, the way her teeth sink into the bottom of it as she asks, "Really?" and leans in close again.

Robin nods, brushing the tip of his nose against hers before he gives in to another kiss. That hand moves back to her face, thumb rubbing over her temple this time as the rest of his fingers bury into the silky softness of her hair.

There's movement this time. She sucks gently at his upper lip, makes him inhale sharply as he takes her bottom lip into his mouth and runs the tip of his tongue over it. It's too quick, a hint of her flavor at best, but he is lost, needs to savor her again and again. The kiss grows in intensity, brought on by this desire he can't quite stop as he sucks a little harder, runs those fingers into her hair a little deeper, moaning at the feel of her, at the way she _Mmh_ s into his mouth and opens for him, inviting his tongue to get a proper taste.

She's sweet, and warm, and addictive, and when she sinks her teeth into his lower lip, he trembles pleasantly. Her hands have now settled flat on his chest, nails sinking and fingers curling into the zipped down neckline of his coat as she kisses deeper, her tongue stroking his, then sneaking a lick at his upper lip before she sucks at his lower one, and all these different sensations have Robin on the verge of moaning her name.

His grip on her hair tightens the slightest bit, his other hand looping around her waist to hoist her up and onto his lap. She goes easily, straddles him with her knees digging on the couch and lets the kiss grow a bit wilder, hungrier as her mouth opens over his, closes on his lower lip again and sucks harder. Robin responds by pulling at her upper lip, teasing his tongue along it and over her own in long, lingering strokes, both hands now running up and down her sides, catching in the zippers of her jacket as he brings her flush against him, her rear landing just over his crotch.

The loud moan he gives her has her gasping, kissing him harder as she winds both arms around his neck and presses into him. He can feel the warmth of her even through the thick material of the jacket, longs to tear the thing away from her so he can touch her properly, feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.

She parts their lips with a wet smack, her breathing heavy as she looks at him. She's smiling, though, and it prompts Robin to smile back, to lean in and buss her lips tenderly before he sighs, cozy and content right where he is.

"I'm sorry we got in the way of the competition," she says then, her voice a mere whisper in the comfortable quiet of the moment.

Robin cradles her cheek in his hand, leans in and dots a kiss ot the tip of her nose as he tells her, "It's alright."

"But we messed with your traditions," she insists. "I promised I wouldn't do that, and I failed."

"Hmm," he ponders for a moment, "I'm enjoying this interruption, actually. You might be changing my mind regarding new things."

He gives her a squeeze with the arm he still has around her waist, grins mischievously at her and throws her a wink for good measure. Her resulting chuckle feels like the greatest victory he's ever achieved.

"I'm serious," she pushes. "I really am trying to make this work, I hate that today was so messed up."

"Regina, I'm fine. We're fine. And Roland is happy building our snow blob. That's what matters."

"So it _is_ a blob," she teases, and Robin answers with a grimace.

"Don't tell my sister I said that," he begs, and Regina grins in response.

"Your secret's safe with me, Mayor Locksley," she tells him, and her voice is a raspy, delicious thing that sends a shock of lust straight to his cock.

Groaning, he lets his head fall into her shoulder and warns her, "We'll never leave this room if you keep calling me that." And she must know exactly what it's doing to him, because she's biting her lip with this very smug, very sexy smile he wants to kiss right off.

They're interrupted by a loud _Aunt Tink, where's Daddy?!_ from outside, and they both wince when Tink answers "He and Regina went to look for something in her trailer, darling, they'll meet us back with the snowman."

"How long have we been here?" Regina whispers, looking at him guiltily.

"Almost an hour," Robin answers with a wince as he looks at his watch.

"I'm so sorry," she says again, lifting from his lap and standing. Robin shakes his head, gets up and joins her, his hands holding hers at their sides.

"Competition lasts three and a half hours, we still have a good thirty minutes left, it'll be fine."

She sighs when he dots a soft kiss on her forehead, and smiles when he looks down at her.

"I really enjoy kissing you, you know," he adds. "You're welcome to do that whenever you want."

She laughs at him for that, but nods her acquiescence and tells him, "So are you," in a voice so low and seductive he can't help but lean in again.

It's a peck, simple and quick, but it carries a familiarity he's not sure he should be feeling so early in the game. And yet it feels... amazing. Feels right. So much so that he hugs her, just to feel her, to hold her close and take in the warmth, the scent of her. She smells of apples and cinnamon, cozy and tender and full of spice all at once, an enticing combination that has him running his fingers to her hair yet again and sighing happily.

When they walk out, they're smiling furtively at each other, to the point where Robin doesn't realize there's a man standing near the trailer until he bumps into him.

"Oh, so sorry," he says, stopping in his tracks and making sure things are fine before he walks on, Regina trailing behind him.

"Go stalk someone else, Sidney," he hears her say, and he turns, confused, to find her glaring at the man Robin just bumped into.

Before he can ask what's wrong, the man sneers and leaves, warning Regina not to underestimate him. Her response is a huff, followed by a roll of her eyes as she takes the necessary steps to meet Robin.

"Is everything alright?" he asks.

"Yeah, fine. Sidney and I just have... a bit of an unfriendly relationship. He's a photographer."

Ah. That explains it, Robin thinks, and commiserates with her. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"He's sold compromising photos of me to many a tabloid, the man makes a living on exploiting everything I do that can be misconstrued into some kind of juicy gossip piece. He's the worst out of all of them."

"Do you think that's why he was lurking here?" Robin asks, curious, "Trying to find some sort of dirt on you?"

"Oh, he doesn't need to find it. He'll create it, I'm sure," she tells him, sounding annoyed. "He's done it before."

He doesn't even realize he's doing it, but Regina stops him from walking in the direction the man just took, holds on to his arm and asks "Where are you going?"

"To give that leech a piece of my mind," Robin all but growls, still stalking in Sidney's direction.

"Stop," she orders. "It's part of the job, I'm used to it, and as honorable as your intentions are, whatever you tell him, he'll spin into a story of how I seduced the local mayor into attacking him, so just... please let it go."

Robin breathes slowly in, then out, fire burning in his belly at the mere idea that anyone could use Regina like this, use _anyone_ like this. But she's right, if the man is not above selling fabricated stories, it's best if Robin doesn't give him any ammo on that regard.

Instead, he turns back to her, apologizes again, and brings a hand to her face once more, thumb rubbing over her cheek. It's tinted pink now from the cold, and it makes her even lovelier, has him wanting to kiss her again. Kiss her always.

But they've just narrowly escaped a paparazzi, so perhaps making out where they can be seen is not the best of ideas right now.

He notices she's brought three wildly colored scarves with her, and remembers the reason they went into her trailer to begin with.

"Right, let's go meet the others then, hm?" he comments, and together they make their way back to the competition area, where Regina's director is lifting Roland up high enough to place a rainbow striped wig atop their snowman.

Tink gives him a knowing smile, but thankfully says nothing, only tells them to help finish the outfit, and Regina kneels into the snow with her scarf offerings, presenting them to Roland.

"Which one do you like?" she asks him, and Robin feels a special kind of warmth coursing through him as he watches his son interact with her, pointing enthusiastically at a bright green scarf with yellow polka dots. Regina then tickles his nose with it, which makes Roland laugh and shake his head away, his nose scrunched up in reaction, and Robin is mesmerized by them both.

"So are you going to help us finish that thing or will you just stand here making googly eyes at Regina?" Tink asks, suddenly standing beside him and flashing him a smug little grin that makes him sigh.

"The Evil Queen is not so evil after all, eh?" she says then, and Robin chuckles softly, looks back at Regina and Roland helping the blonde director wrap the scarf around the snowman.

"Guess not," Robin admits, unable to shake the smile Regina has put there. "But you're right, we should help them finish, we only have a few minutes."

Tink looks put off by the idea of not extracting more information from him, but falls in step with him as they join the others.

* * *

Their creation is most definitely a blob, but Robin has to admit it is a very stylish one. If you can call that scarf, a rainbow wig and a magenta coat a "stylish" choice.

Roland has dubbed him Olaf, despite it looking nothing like the cartoon, and they all have a good laugh over it, then wait patiently while Granny and her panel of judges (mostly kids from the area) look over everyone's creations and consult in secret.

"Alright," Granny finally announces, brandishing a small piece of paper as she calls everyone to attention, "and the winner is..."

Regina is beside him, and he can see the way she holds her breath as she awaits the results, her hand clutching Roland's as they both smile nervously in Granny's general direction. Robin is too entranced by the sight to look at the older woman as she announces the winner.

"Olaf!" she yells out, "Made by the Locksley family and their friends!"

Robin should be excited. He's been participating in —and losing— this contest since before Roland was born, and this is their first win ever. But for Robin, it's no longer about the excitement of winning, or the prize, or the laughter heard throughout as everyone cheers for him. It's about Regina, about her genuine excitement and the beaming smile she's sporting; it's about Roland and his shrieks of _Yay! We won! The blob won!_ that can be heard among the exhilarating hubbub, about the way his boy jumps in Regina's arms to celebrate.

It's the most fulfilled Robin's felt in years.

Roland and Tink invite Regina and Mal to dinner, and the director declines, graciously tells Roland she must get ready for tomorrow's shoot, but promises to have a slice of cherry pie with him at the inn after filming is done for the day. Regina, on the other hand, immediately accepts, chancing a timid glance at Robin and adding, "If that's okay with you, of course."

He smiles, nods, and tells her he'll be delighted to have her, the words injected with more desire than he should probably let on in front of his family, but he can't shake the image, the feel of her lips on his, and it makes him do silly things.

They leave their winning masterpiece out in the cold, decked out in its funky outfit, and head to Bella Notte for their meal. It's entirely too casual, too familiar, like they've been doing this forever, and Robin finds absolutely nothing wrong with that.

There's a bit of sauce clinging to the corner of her mouth, and Roland points it out with a laugh before Robin swoops in and thumbs it away, Regina's grateful smile shining brighter than the candlelight, bathing the entire evening in its glow.

They skip dessert with the promise of pie at the inn, but when they arrive, Roland has already passed out in his father's arms, his head resting on Robin's shoulder.

"I guess that's bedtime, then," Robin says, and gingerly hands Roland to Tink, who carries the boy upstairs while wishing them both a good night.

"And then there were two," Regina jokes, her hands digging into her pockets as she looks around nervously. "Tonight was incredible. Thank you."

"The pleasure was mine," he insists, stretching out his arm and coaxing one of her hands out of her pocket, taking it in his and looking down at it, his thumb once again rubbing over her knuckles, much as he'd done earlier today. "I'd like to do it again."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe there's only one snowman competition per year," she teases back, but her eyes are shining, she knows exactly what he means.

Still, Robin clarifies, "No, not the competition, dinner."

She lets out a low _O_ _h_ , staring down at their joint hands before lifting her gaze up to his.

"With one caveat, though," Robin says then, and at the curious raise of her eyebrow he tells her, "Next time, I'd like it to be just us."

They've somehow shifted closer, and he can feel the warmth of her breath over his neck, the energy vibrating from her as he takes in the beauty of her face. She's smiling still, her tongue peeking to wet her lower lip just a second before he bends his head and kisses her.

It's soft, slow, tongues exploring each other without hurry. His hands have now wound around her waist, and hers have done the same around his, her arms pressing under his own. He shivers when she runs a hand over his lower back, pressing him closer as they kiss, and he can't help the moan that escapes him when she licks at his upper lip and then sucks it into her mouth.

She hums in response, smiles into the kiss, and then deepens it by letting her tongue caress and tangle with his, a dance Robin is all too eager to experience again. He kisses back, basks in the taste of her, pulling her closer and breathing in the sweet scent of apples and spice that he's come to associate with her by now. When they part, she's breathless, her skin flushed, and the sight has him groaning, his cock hardening, begging for attention.

"What do you see in me?" she asks him then, completely out of the blue, and it surprises him how easy it is to answer her.

"Hopefully the same thing you see in me, a second chance..." and he realizes it might sound like too much, considering they only met a couple of weeks ago, so he lightens the mood by adding, "and you're quite a good kisser," reveling in the breathy laugh it provokes in her.

He gets one last peck in, because he simply can't get enough of her, and then watches her go up the stairs once again, his hand holding hers, his lips kissing it as her arm stretches before he lets it go.

He runs into John in the living room, who by the looks of it has witnessed the entire exchange. Great.

"I know what you're thinking," he starts, but John raises a hand to stop him.

"I haven't seen her that happy in a long time. Just... tell me it's genuine, that you're not using her."

"I'd never do something like that," Robin defends, outraged. "I care for her."

"Good, keep it that way," John says with an easy smile, and warns, "But Robin. This is not an easy life, you might wanna think about it before you jump into something you're not ready for."

Robin is about to fire a rebuttal when the man speaks again. "I know, I know, you care about her. I don't doubt that, man. But I don't want to see her heart broken again, she doesn't deserve that. So if this isn't something you truly want, I suggest you make that decision sooner rather than later. Before anyone gets hurt."

"I understand," says Robin, unable to keep the defiance out of his tone. He nods curtly at John, wishes him a good night, and heads to his quarters.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Sorry for the delay, guys. The holidays have been very difficult for me this year so my goal of finishing this story up by Christmas was not met. I hope you're all still in the mood for Christmasy things and continue to follow me on what's left of this little journey._**

 ** _FYI: This chapter is rated M_**

* * *

The energy during filming the next day is completely different. Everything is fresh and vibrant and wonderful, and Regina finds it hard to get into the sad mindset of her character while they shoot that scene by the ice rink, her own mind still reeling from the wonderful events of the night before.

He's a great kisser, and she knows it's wrong, that they shouldn't even be entertaining the idea of flirting with each other, let alone making out like teenagers at his hotel, but he's kind, and smart, and funny and attractive, and god, she wants to kiss him again. He's right there, by the edge of the rink, hunched over the railing and watching her, his eyes so seductive as they study her she's surprised the rink hasn't melted under the heat of his gaze.

He disappears somewhere around take seven, and when he shows up again (right before they start take nine), it's right by the film crew instead of outside the perimeter, carrying two to-go cups in hand.

Smiling, she walks over to greet him, takes his offered hot cocoa and exchanges flirty comments when no one's looking. They try not to be too obvious, stop themselves from giving into this pull between them and instead make plans for later. The inn should be nearly empty tonight, as the guests are heading out to do some caroling, they'll have time to, as Robin puts it, _get to know each other better._

He's put up mistletoe on the ceiling of the Sherwood, right above the foot of the stairs, which seems to be their spot now, the place where they say those goodnights that carry all the underlying sexual tension.

It's not just that she wants him, though. He's... interested. Genuinely so, asks her about her day even while they stand there on set and sip their cocoa. She tells him a little bit about the movie, about filming, and tells him a general summary of the script, to which he reacts positively, nodding and smiling at all the proper moments.

"You really like it?" she asks, nervous now to know his real opinion.

"Sounds like the perfect holiday movie, if I'm honest," he tells her. "But don't tell anyone I said that. I've worked very hard to earn my Grinch reputation this year, I'd rather not see it all go to waste."

She grins at that, because he's right. The whole town has been throwing sideways glances at him at every turn, making comments about his lack of Christmas cheer whenever he sulks or rolls his eyes at all the concessions they've had to make over the movie. He's no longer upset by it, or at least he doesn't seem to be, not when he's here, with her, overlooking the set and taking in the amount of people working so hard to accomplish such a dire task.

"Your secret's safe with me," she promises. "I'll even tell them the hot cocoa was cold so they won't think you're fraternizing with the enemy."

"Oh, don't go that far, I beg you, Granny would have my hide if she thought I was weaponizing her goods."

He's so damn _cute_ when he's flirting like that, Regina thinks, can't help the tingly sensation in her belly as she walks closer and whispers, "Alright, Mayor Locksley, I'll be on my best behavior."

She knows the effect she has on him, and is not even the least bit ashamed when he answers her with a little groan, his eyes closing as he warns, "Regina."

"Yes?" she asks innocently, unable to contain her laughter when he stares pointedly at her.

"You're no fun," she chides, pouting slightly.

"Save judgment on that until later tonight," he whispers then, with a wink and a devilish smile.

The crew are on break, and they're far enough away that she and Robin can chat somewhat freely, so she's feeling less inhibited than usual, feels at ease enough to tell him things like "Can't wait," as she moves just a little closer and stares at his lips. He licks them in response, looks down at hers and licks his again.

Right. Okay. Distance. Distance is necessary. Before she climbs him like a tree in front of her cast and crew.

Mal yells out that the break is over, tells them all to get ready for take nine. And Regina breathes a sigh of relief at the interruption (curses it at the same time, because it means she won't be here, with Robin, tempting him and watching him react).

"You ready to go, babe?" Walsh is suddenly there, kissing her cheek and grabbing her hand. "Let's do this!"

Robin is visibly tense now, huffing and turning away from them while Regina trains her eyes on Walsh.

"I'll be right there," she tells him through gritted teeth, and he looks askance at her reaction, rubs his thumb over her arm and asks if everything's okay, if Robin is bothering her.

"You are bothering me, Walsh," Regina says pointedly, "now please, can I finish my conversation before we get back to work?"

Chastised, he lifts both hands in surrender and says, "Alright, hun, see you out there."

His smile is big and unfaltering as he trots backwards to his spot on the set, his coat flapping in the wind as he finds his spot.

Regina then turns to Robin.

"See you tonight?" she says, and takes a last sip of her cocoa while he ponders his answer.

"We dated on and off for two years, broke up last summer when we realized the only reason we were still together was because our agents wanted us to be. It's why he wants the world to believe we're rekindling our relationship. Career boost and all that," she explains, grabs his hand with her free one when he looks like he's about to call it all off. "But that's not what I want, and he knows it."

"Does he?" Robin asks with a scowl, and it's ridiculous that he's acting this way, it's not like they've even discuss what this is between them.

But he looks adorable, all grouchy like this, so she smiles, and assures him that "Yes, he knows. We watch each other's movies and talk about his one night stands over drinks. That's it."

Robin sighs then, nods without a word, and squeezes her gloved fingers with his bare ones.

"I'll see you tonight?" she asks again, and he gives her a small smile, tells her _I'm sorry. Yes, of course_ , and heads back the way he came.

* * *

He can't cook. Makes the confession when she compliments the ravioli they're eating for dinner, and tells her it's all Marco and Tony. Admits to having burned his fair share of pots and pans whenever he attempted to replicate any kind of recipe.

"Marian was the chef in our relationship. Top quality stuff," he says then, laughing as he admits, "She used to say I was likely to get my hand burned just by pouring cereal."

Regina chuckles at that, her mirth fading into a silent appraisal as she looks at him, grinning still.

"Thank you," she says later, as she takes her last bite, "I... I haven't had this in a while."

"Ravioli?" Robin asks, teasing, "No italian restaurants in LA?"

Regina huffs (though the smile hasn't left her), calls him a smartass as she takes a final sip of Merlot and sets the glass back down in front of her plate.

But he understands her meaning, he must, because he takes her hand then, moving it over the table and bringing it to his lips, the words _I feel the same_ whispered against her skin.

"Have you thought about my proposal?" he asks her then, as if trying to find a topic of conversation that won't feed the live wire of sexual tension crackling between them.

"Proposal?" she frowns in confusion.

"About staying for Christmas," Robin reminds her.

"Oh, I... I don't know, Robin..." she starts, but he's immediately waving his hand, telling her not to worry, she can take her time.

"There is one thing, however," he adds, "that I would really like to ask you, should you decide to stay."

"Oh?"

"We have the annual Snow Ball at the Sherwood on the evening of the 25th. I was wondering... well, if you stay, that is... whether you'd like to attend with me."

Oh. Oh, wow. Okay. Well, then, that's... That's...

"Just a dance, Regina," he insists, "and we don't have to go if you don't want to. Or if you do want to go, it doesn't have to be a date or anything of the sort if you'd rather it not be. I just... I think you'd really enjoy it."

He's moved closer to her now, and it makes her nervous when she admits, "The problem is I... I don't know how to dance."

At that, he beams at her, taking a step back and giving her one of those ridiculous bows he so loves to tease her with before he offers his hand.

"What are you doing?" she asks, taken aback by the action.

"I'm teaching you to dance, milady," he says. And he is... ridiculous. And charming, and she wants to kiss that smirk so badly she can't help but take his hand, let him pull her close.

There's a scent of fresh pine in the air, and it occurs to Regina then that it's not the Sherwood Christmas tree, but _Robin_ who smells like forest.

It somehow makes him that much more irresistible.

"The secret is to not look at your feet," he starts. "Keep your eyes on me, okay?"

She nods, and then they move.

He's graceful in his dancing, pulls her in and pushes gently, murmuring soft instructions that have her turning as he holds her hand up above them. There's no music, and she feels a little ridiculous moving without a real rhythm, tries to use it as an excuse to get out of dancing at all. But Robin is one step ahead of her, heads to the sound system in the corner and chooses a song, the familiar tune echoing along with the voice of Elvis in the empty living room.

 _I'll have a blue Christmas without you..._

 _I'll be so blue just thinking... about you..._

He guides her steps, holds her close and moves them both in a circle, his hands solid and warm on her lower back.

 _Decorations of red... on a green Christmas tree..._

He's pushing her away from his body now, arms outstretched so that their hands remain joined, fingers laced together in order to pull her back in. Regina goes willingly, eagerly, even, smacks right into his chest and laughs nervously at his whispered _Oof_.

 _Won't be the same, dear, if you're not here with me..._

He shifts their hands then, so that her palm rests flat on his, and moves them outward in a practiced wave before guiding her into a new step.

 _And when those blue snowflakes start fallin'_

 _That's when those blue memories start callin'..._

Robin twirls her again, holding only one of her hands this time and lifting it above her head so she can turn in a circle, and then he pulls her in, all dimples and deep blue eyes, and lands his lips on hers softly.

 _You'll be doing alright, with your Christmas of white..._

He's tender, seductive, sucks at her upper lip and grins when they part, her teeth sinking into her own smile as she pulls away and attempts to regain the tempo of their steps. It's too late, though, she's lost it completely, as well as the semi-decent coordination she'd been moving with, but it's not embarrassing anymore, it's just... funny.

 _But I'll have a blue, blue, blue, blue Christmas..._

They're both laughing, trying to come back to the steps but too amused to actually manage it, and then he surprises her, lets go of her and starts thrusting and undulating his hips as he stands on his tiptoes in a very, very terrible imitation of Elvis while the music continues.

 _You'll be doing alright, with your Christmas of white..._

One hand runs over the side of his hair while the other acts as a microphone, the thrusting continuing, but getting sillier each time, and Regina laughs as she watches him karaoke the last verse of the song.

 _But I'll have a blue, blue, blue, blue Christmas..._

"Thank you, thank you very much," Robin says, making his voice gruff and over pronouncing his Rs.

"You have a terrible American accent," she tells him, and they both laugh before he walks over to her, his arms winding around her waist with an ease that really shouldn't please her as much as it does.

He's grinning down at her, his eyes closing as he runs the tip of his nose down the bridge of hers and whispers, "You're a great dancer."

She chuckles at that, whispers an incredulous, "Please."

"I mean it," Robin insists. "I like holding you while you move with me..." he does just that, coaxes her into swaying a bit from side to side, and he's so warm, and smells so good, Regina can't help the way her eyes flutter shut as she leans into him, his lips pressing a kiss to her brow while he holds their joined hands against his chest.

There's no music, but it's not about the dancing anymore, and when she pulls away and opens her eyes to look into his, she finds the same desire in them that courses through her in that very moment.

She leans in, plants her mouth on his and surrenders immediately to the tingling sensation of his kisses. He starts slow, with a press of his lips against hers that has heat coursing through her skin. He lingers on the second pass, lets the tip of his tongue caress her lower lip, asking for permission for more, and she gives it gladly, moans at the taste of him when her mouth opens to his lazy exploration, and it makes him grasp her tighter against him, chests pressed together as her arms loop around his neck.

His voice is husky when it says her name, _Regina_ , like she's precious to him, like he cares, and it makes her realize she cares, too. Has come to care so much in such a short time. For him, for his family, for this town.

It's overwhelming.

"What's wrong?" he asks when she stops kissing him.

"Nothing," she tries, but he looks at her knowingly, waits until she somewhat tearily admits, "I just never thought I'd have this."

Robin smiles at her, leans in and kisses her again, with more intensity this time. His tongue flicks at hers, and then he sucks at her lower lip, rakes his teeth gently over it before he sucks again, and in an instant the embers of their shared affection have transformed into a full burning flame.

Her hands run up and down his back, wrap around his waist and use the leverage to push her body closer against his, until she can feel his hand dropping from her lower back to the curve of her ass, from reverent touch to almost desperate grasp, kneading and eliciting sounds Regina's not sure she's ever made before.

"Roland?" she asks breathlessly when they part, licking her suddenly dry lips.

"With Tink," he answers immediately, his breath just as ragged as hers. "She'll put him to bed when they return."

Regina looks up at him from under her lashes, licks her lips again as nerves start to bloom in her belly. It's now or never.

"Spend tonight with me," she asks, and at his confused frown she adds, "In my room."

His eyes go wide at that, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he gives her waist a little squeeze and asks, "Are... are you sure?"

She nods, smiling somewhat shyly at him and urging him "Come upstairs with me, Robin."

The walk to her room is short, but somehow it still takes them a good ten minutes to reach her door, and she'd guess it's because they kept pausing up the steps to make out under the mistletoe (under it, over it, beside it, they never stopped). She doesn't feel the least bit sorry for it, though, not when he's pinning her against the wall of her room, his lips lost on her neck, marking a trail of sucking kisses down until he reaches the neckline of the sleeveless dress she'd chosen for tonight.

Regina shivers when his fingers trail over her nape, searching for the little hook to undo it and then dragging the zipper down, until it's completely open and her back is now exposed in a V of red, stretchy fabric that ends just over her rear. She turns so he can remove it completely, and grins to herself when he lets out a soft _Oh, fuck_ and trails his hand over the exposed skin.

But for all his lusty desperation, he takes his time, pushes the left side down her shoulder first, following the path of the fabric with soft kisses that warm her from the inside out, her very flesh aching for more of his attentions.

When the right side falls, and the dress ends up pooled around her waist, he groans her name, turning her around and closing his eyes as his head lolls back, a low _Christ, Regina_ escaping him at the sight of her.

His hands are warm and firm as they explore her, pausing at her breasts to tease her nipples over the fabric of her bra with lazy rubs of his thumbs, and god, she wants him. Desperately.

"Kiss me," she orders, and his mouth is instantly moving back up her neck, until it reaches hers and she gasps into the kiss. He's going slow still, slow enough that she can feel the way his lips close around hers and suck, can feel the way his hands roam her back as they pull her away from the wall and against him.

Regina starts moving then, walking him backwards to her bed while his lips are still occupied on hers, his hand working behind her to unclasp the hooks of her bra.

"Wait," she whispers, and he stops instantly, pulling away from her and pausing everything as he asks if she's alright. She smiles, nods, and tells him, "I just want to do that myself."

He _Oh_ s, and then his feet budge as she pushes him further back, until the backs of his knees are pressed against the bed and Regina pushes him down to sit on it. His hands land on her hips, rest there while she twists her arms to unhook the clasp at her back, sighing when the offending garment is finally off of her and on the floor, leaving her topless before him.

"Stunning," he says, leaning in to flick his tongue over her nipple. "In every way."

She sighs at the compliment, threads her hand through those caramel tresses of his while he treats her nipples to slow, sucking kisses that leave her ardently wanting more. He's at eye level with her breasts as she stands between his legs, and her eyes have fallen shut as she simply enjoys the feel and texture of his hair, the soft moans he gives her when she pulls at it slightly, the wet passes of his tongue over her skin.

His hands reach for her dress then, pulling it the rest of the way down, until it's a heap of red at her feet. Regina gingerly steps out of that and her heels, kicking the obstacles away before she reaches down for the hem of his shirt and removes it, exposing his toned muscles to her hungry gaze.

He's well defined, and solid, and gorgeous, and Regina devours the sight. She takes her time with him, though, same as he does with her, runs her fingers down the chiseled abs when he stands up from the bed for her perusal, one hand reaching up to play with the ends of her hair, rub a thumb over her cheek...

It's a moment of reverence, more than anything, a moment where they both understand what is about to happen, how much everything is about to change between them, and they welcome it.

Robin leans in then, shaking his head so that the tip of his nose rubs against hers once, twice, a third time before he sighs and kisses her. His lips are slow, tender, suck at her lower one with care, his tongue peeking out just enough to tease leisurely against hers, an unhurried dance that Regina doesn't think she'll ever get enough of.

He moans into the kiss, a deep, throaty sound that erupts when she gives him a little nip, to pull at his upper lip, and then his arms wind around her, and she doesn't really realize what he's doing until she's the one whose legs are touching the mattress, her body sinking down onto it slowly and scooting back to lay her head on the pillows while Robin remains at the foot of the bed, shirtless and glorious.

Regina's had her fair share of lovers. In and out of Hollywood. She's had intense nights of fancy drinks and incredible sex, of partners who have made her come and come, and feel sexy, and beautiful. But not one of them, not one, has ever looked at her with the amount of devotion Robin is right this second. It's... different, and deep, a connection she's never felt with anyone before, not even Daniel, and it stokes this new fire in her heart as she watches him walk closer, dropping his jeans, boxers and shoes along the way.

The bed sinks a little when he joins her, sitting at her side and running a hand over her thigh, tickling her skin pleasantly as he goes. Regina gasps, then trains her eyes on his face, licking her lips as she watches the way he reacts to her, the way his breath becomes more shallow, how his mouth drops open the tiniest bit as his hand caresses her stomach, up her ribcage and then her breasts, pausing over one.

"I... is this okay?" he asks, and how silly of him to ask such a thing, when he's already sucked and licked her nipples while she moaned her pleasure.

Still, she nods, appreciates the sentiment behind his question, and openly tells him, "Touch me, Robin."

He groans at that, licks his lips and moves that hand over her body with more confidence, kneading at one breast and then the other, his thumb rubbing over her nipples still sensitive from his earlier attentions. They harden again, seeking more of his touch, and Regina watches with rapt attention as Robin bends his head down to them and sucks one into his mouth.

The feeling is unparalleled, the slick sensation of his tongue on the stiff peaks making her rub her thighs together as she feels wetness building between them. His hand is now free to roam the rest of her, his mouth still busy on her breasts, alternating between one nipple and the other while he touches her body, acquaints himself with it.

Regina wants so badly to do the same to him, to feel and touch and lick and suck at every bit of him, but it all feels too good to stop. And when she's on the brink of purring under the soft stroking of his fingertips, he dips them between her legs, exploring her in the most intimate way.

His mouth releases her nipple then, kisses its way up her chest, her neck, finding her lips and staying there for a few slow seconds while he rubs two fingers in slow circles over her clit, making her grow wetter and wetter even as he veers away from her mouth and starts making his way down.

Somehow he manages to retain this air of reverence, of unhurried appreciation about him as he shifts to lie between her legs, opening them to his tongue and giving her one long, flat lick along her sex. She hisses in response, shivers pleasantly at the action and inadvertently gives a short little thrust of her hips in search for more, which lucky for her, he seems all too happy to give.

* * *

...:::...

He runs the tip of his tongue over her outer lips, teasing her, discovering her, taking in the way she reacts to every action and repeating those she finds particularly pleasurable. Like when he sucks gently at her clit and she gasps, then moans when he does it again, and again, his tongue licking up from her entrance to the sensitive bud in long, steady strokes that have her breathing faster and faster despite their sluggish pace.

"So good," she whispers above him, and Robin hums his answer against her clit, closes his lips around it and sucks once more, harder this time, delighting in the way her hips buck in response, how she lets out a breathy _Oh!_ when his tongue ventures inside her.

Her hands have found his hair again, and he's grown quite fond of that, of the way she pulls at it when he sucks at her, nails scratching lightly at his scalp as she becomes overwhelmed with the passion.

"Robin," she breathes, when he moans at the taste of her on his tongue. He licks and licks. Again and again until she's writhing, her hands fisting into the sheets. Another kiss on her clit, one more long, hard suck the way she likes, and then he's pushing two fingers inside the wet heat of her, releasing her name on a gruff exhale when he's coated in her.

Robin licks at her clit again, flicking his tongue over the little nub while his fingers twist as he pushes in and out, in and out, deep and tight and incredible as he fills her, a third finger joining the other two when she whimpers "More."

He's taking his time, making sure he can touch and see and enjoy her, but she's climbing higher and higher on every thrust of his fingers, rolling her hips with more purpose as she seeks out the friction, moaning louder and louder as he finds the perfect spot inside her, hitting it one, two and three times in consecutive strokes.

She's a vision, those thick waves of dark brown spread over the pillow and getting messier as she thrashes her head with his every pass. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she _Mmm_ s for him, begs for "Faster," and "Harder," and "Oh, that feels... mmmhh— need you inside me."

"God, I need you, too, Regina," he confesses, kissing a line up her thigh and back down over her sex, replacing his fingers with his tongue and reveling in her reaction. He can feel her legs trembling on either side of him, getting closer and closer to the edge, her hands pulling his hair just a little tighter when he licks back up to her clit, sucks at it yet again as his fingers enter her and hook upwards, looking for that spot again. Robin keeps a languid pace, prolongs the anticipation with more teasing sucks, delighting in her soft whimpers, in the way her body arches and her hips circle over his hand, following his rhythm.

"I've... it's never felt so... oh, god, yes!" she whisper-shouts, gasping repeatedly when he finds that perfect angle again, and he has to prompt her _So what? Tell me_ before she finishes with "Intense," and there's something in the way she says it, a hitch in her breath as her head lolls back on the word, that has his cock twitching, begging to bury itself inside her and see just how intense this all really is.

His hand starts moving faster, pressing into that spot a little harder, the wet sounds erupting from the action only spurring him on as he bends his head back down to her clit and licks and sucks the taste of her, his other hand pressing flat down on her navel. She bucks her hips, and moans, and gasps that she's close, so close, followed by nearly incomprehensible Mmmnns and Guhs and Aahhs that have him growing harder, needier.

The next time he hits her G-spot with his fingers, he sucks hard at her clit at the same time, presses that hand on her stomach down a little more, and watches as she all but mewls, her hand pulling so much at his hair it starts to sting. He doesn't care, she can leave him bald if she so wishes, so long as he can watch this again and again.

When she comes, it's with a squeaky whisper of his name, and a stream of Ohs and Yeses as she rides out the wave of pleasure, his fingers pulsing inside her as he continues to lap at her, his own moans joining hers blissful little gasps.

When she's caught her breath, he crawls up over her, kissing a line from her belly button to her chest, pausing by her breasts to give each nipple another long, hard suck the way she likes, and then continuing on his way, sucking yet more kisses along her neck. Her hands are on him then, roaming his back, moving down to his arse and giving him a squeeze, which has him chuckling into her skin.

"Admiring the bum, Your Majesty?" he teases, and she laughs with him, but squeezes again, adds a slow thrust of her hips that has her slick sex rubbing just over the tip of his cock, and Robin hisses at the unexpected pleasure.

She's smiling smugly when his eyes find her face again, and he'd taunt her with some grouchy comment if she didn't look so utterly beautiful like this, her skin flushed and a little sweaty, lipstick kissed completely off and her hair a mess of lovely waves around her face.

When she lifts her head to kiss him, Robin goes willingly. His arms are bent on either side of her head, elbows digging into the mattress to hold his weight above her as he sucks on her lower lip. She moans when her tongue tangles with his, turned on, he realizes, by tasting herself on his tongue. It makes him deepen the kiss even more, makes him rasp a low _Want you_ that has her humming her approval.

Her hand moves down between them, palming his cock and wrapping her fingers around. It's an awkward angle, but does the trick anyway, hard as he is for her. Robin lets out an "Oh, yes," when she pumps him slowly, the pressure just right, just enough to have him reeling.

The pad of her thumb presses over his tip, and he groans, sinks lower into her and kisses her again, sucking at her lower lip before he lets go on a gasp as she gives him yet another lazy pump. Her teeth nip at his chin, hips circling slowly against his cock and her hand, and he lets out a loud "Fuck!" into the heated air of the room. He _wants_ her. Badly.

But there's one thing missing, and he curses under his breath, pauses his actions and gasps "Condoms... I... I didn't... god, you feel so good," into her ear, his speech choppy due to her hand pumping faster.

"Nightstand," she indicates, and he sticks out his hand blindly towards it, knocking a notepad and pen to the floor and almost doing the same to the glass of water that sits there before he finally closes his fingers around a couple of square foil packages.

He takes one, brings it to his mouth and rips it open with his teeth, and watches intently as he pulls back and sits on his knees to put the condom on.

Once he's fully sheathed in the latex, he moves back over her, his hand finding her entrance and feeling the wetness there. She's ready, tells him so with a little whimper and a _Please_ that makes him even harder. He grabs his cock, pumps it a couple of times, then runs the tip of it along her entrance and over her clit, teasing her, watching as she hums and rasps _God, yes_ when he finally pushes into the wet, tight warmth of her.

She feels unbelievable, surrounds him and squeezes at him from every angle, her legs opening further as he moves to settle above her once again, until his pelvis is flush against hers and he's buried to the hilt inside her with a low Fuuuuck.

"You feel... ohh—mmmhh," he babbles, pulling back and thrusting back in slowly, feeling her wrap deliciously around every inch of his cock.

"You too," she echoes, her body arching, lifting off the bed and against his, her hips rocking languidly, taking him in deeper before he pulls back out. Her hands are running down his back, ghosting over his arse and back up, then back down to knead at him again and grasp firmly, pressing him in against her as she moves.

Every roll of her hips is accentuated by a gasp, or an _Oh_ , or a whisper of _Robin_ , and he's so hard just from listening to her, just from watching her, that now that he's inside her he doesn't think he'll last very long.

Maintaining that tender, unhurried pace, he thrusts back in. Out, and in, and out again. "Ahh," and "God..." and "Fucking perfect."

"Mmh," she answers, and this time thrusts a little harder against him, let's out an "Oh, yes, right there," when the action has him pressing into that spot she likes so much. Robin moves again, again, hits that spot over and over, harder on every thrust as he fills her, and he's rock solid inside her, feeling her walls tremble as she takes him in deep.

"So close. Ahh, so close," she tells him.

"I can feel it. Mmm, so good." His hand moves down between them to stroke her clit in fast little circles as he speaks, then bends his head to kiss her, swallowing her moans as she climbs up, up, up...

"Let go for me, Regina, let me see you," he tells her, moves his mouth back down to her breasts, sucking almost greedily at her nipple. That hand on her clit moves a little quicker, pressing a little harder, until she's crying out her pleasure and coming on his cock.

He revels in it, relishes the almost desperate way in which she kisses him and then orders, "Faster."

He obeys without protest, picking up the pace to help her ride out her orgasm, surrendering to the feel of her, the delicious, wet heat that wraps around him as he enters her again and again, until he, too, is overwhelmed with pleasure, coming with a strangled gasp as he crashes his lips to hers, his tongue seeking out hers, tasting her as bouts of tingling, unbelievable sensation course through him.

His whole body relaxes, a few erratic bucks of his hips escaping him in blissful little aftershocks that make Regina gasp and smile below him. Robin doesn't move just yet, remains right where he is, his cock softening inside her as he leans in and rubs the tip of his nose against hers, then gives her a soft peck, the back of his hand running over her cheek.

They're both a little sweaty, their bodies warm from indoor heating and their activities, but she's smiling, looking up at him with such affection he feels like his heart will burst inside his chest at the sight.

Her hand moves up to his face, caressing down his cheek and rubbing her thumb over the scruff along his jaw. Robin turns his head for a moment, kissing her palm before he looks at her again, mirroring her smile.

She looks like she's about to say something, but shakes her head and laughs instead.

"What?" he asks, curious.

"Nothing, I just... I never expected to end up in bed with the mayor," she teases.

"Hmm, I never expected to end up in bed with Hollywood's most beautiful starlet," he fires back.

"Smooth," she quips, and after a moment of barely contained amusement, she exhales a laugh, warmth spreading through him at the sound.

Robin kisses the tip of her nose then, and taunts her, "However, I do believe you planned this."

"Did I?"

"You were prepared," he says, shrugging one shoulder, and almost to make his point, he decides to move then, grabbing the condom as he pulls out of her, removing it and dumping it in the little trash bin next to the bed.

When he turns back to her, she looks guilty, smiling sheepishly as she makes her confession.

"Yeah, about that. I, uh... I may have stolen those from Walsh," she admits, and it should irk him, probably, that he's used one of Wonderboy's rubbers, but instead, the revelation brings a new wave of amusement, has him burying his head into her neck as he laughs breathlessly.

She joins him, acknowledges, "He always has some in case he needs them! I figured it was safer than going to the drugstore and getting caught by paparazzi or, god forbid, Leroy, your town gossip. So after we wrapped for today, I snuck into Walsh's trailer while he was greeting fans and... pilfered a few."

He can picture it, can see her trying to stealthily glide from wall to wall like she's in some kind of spy movie, dressed in all black and attempting to get through undetected. It's an inaccurate and highly ridiculous image that only elevates his amusement, but he doesn't lose sight of what she's just confessed to, accuses, "So you did plan for this," amid dying chuckles, bending his elbow against the mattress and resting his head on his hand.

"I... thought it was a possibility," she corrects, her cheeks taking on a pink hue at the admission.

"You wanted to seduce me," he teases, and Regina gives him an embarrassed _Shut up_ that makes him laugh again.

He kisses her and tells her she's welcome to seduce him anytime, and she grins at that, giving him a quick peck in response. Robin then shifts to lie on his back, his arm pillowing her head. His lips whisper kisses into her hair, her body pressing close to him as she lies on her side, drawing random patterns over his chest.

He feels his eyelids grow heavy, feels that cozy, post-coital relaxation stretch through his limbs, but he's not exactly sure where they stand, what she wants, so he swallows back the nerves and asks, "Would you like me to leave?"

Her head perks up at that, and she stares at him like he's grown a second head.

"Of course not," she tells him, sounding just a little dejected when she adds, "Unless... unless you want to leave?"

"God, no," he rushes to reassure her. "No, I... I want to stay here with you, I just wasn't sure if..."

"If?" she prompts.

"I thought maybe _you_ might want to be by yourself. I didn't want you to think you had to let me stay just because we..." he gestures down at their naked state, and she looks concerned still, so he elaborates by adding, "We've never actually discussed what this is between us, I didn't want you to feel obligated to—"

"I don't know what this is," she interrupts. "But I know I don't want you to leave."

And that, Robin decides, is more than enough for now. So instead of pushing the subject, he smiles, leans in when she reaches for him, her lips soft on his, her hand cradling his cheek.

"Stay," she insists when she pauses to draw breath, and he dives back in for another kiss and whispers his answer.

"Your wish is my command, Your Majesty."


	5. Chapter 5

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

Regina wakes with the sun, its light dull as it starts to peek through the horizon, streaming in through her window and reflecting on the snow piled outside. She smiles, feeling the pleasant ache between her legs, and takes a moment to reorient herself. They'd shifted in the night, and somehow she'd ended up spooned by him while they slept, the covers drawn over them both, her arm resting on top of the comforter, back and shoulders exposed. Taking a deep breath, she slowly turns in the loop of Robin's arms to watch him.

He stirs a little, but doesn't wake, his chest rising and falling slowly. His snores amuse her, rather than annoy her, and she can't help but cuddle closer, basking in the warmth of his naked body against hers, the weight of his arm over her side, the complete relaxation on his face as he sleeps.

Her hand rises, hovering over his face and slowly lowering the back of her fingers along his cheek in a feather-like touch that has him frowning, then smiling, inhaling long and deep before he sighs her name and uses that arm he has over her to bring her even closer.

Regina doesn't remember ever feeling this happy, can't help the breathy giggle that breaks out of her as she runs her fingers over his face again, sighing when he turns with eyes still shut and lands a kiss on her palm before settling back into their little cocoon. She leans in to dot a kiss on the tip of his nose, another on his chin, smiling when he hums and tightens his grip on her and moves the hand under his head to blindly play with her hair.

When his eyes finally open, she's still grinning like an idiot, and it seems to prompt a smile of his own, has him looking at her and beaming before he leans in to kiss her.

"Good morning," he says, and god, his voice is just delicious first thing in the morning, all raspy and pleasant, seductive and low.

"Well, look who's finally woken up," she teases, and he chuckles, moving away from her and stretching on the bed, moaning pleasantly before he turns back to her, his head resting on his hand again, elbow bent against his pillow while his other hand runs slowly up and down her back.

"I apologize, but, uh..." he looks at her with mischief in his eyes as he says, "that was the best... sleep I've had in a very long time."

She laughs, rolling her eyes playfully at him while he continues making those exquisite tingles erupt along her back.

He's giving her that dopey-eyed look again, smiling affectionately as he asks, "How would you like to come down to the kitchen with me, and let me cook you breakfast? Terrible as I am in the kitchen, I can still whip up a decent French toast."

Regina sighs, sinks into his embrace as she answers, "That sounds lovely, but... we both know we can't do that."

He chuckles, not put off by her comment in the least, it seems, and tells her, "Yes, you're probably right, our town is a bit full of gossips at present."

She laughs at him, her head burying into his neck, where she dots a kiss before she pulls back.

"You've a very elusive, but satisfying smile, you know that?" he says then, his free hand cradling her cheek. "I think about it every time I close my eyes now. So beautiful."

Regina can't find a comeback to that, to the affection he so casually pours into the words, so instead she kisses him, open-mouthed and hungry, inhaling audibly when he kisses back, sucks at her lower lip right before he lets go and pulls away to watch her.

"What?" he asks, noticing the awe on her face.

"Nothing, it just... makes me wonder why we didn't do this a few weeks ago," she admits.

"Well, you were suffering from a bit of stress and a touch of pre-movie nerves, and I was just being an arse," he answers simply, his hand moving just a little further back so that his fingers can play in her hair, thumb caressing her cheekbone while her own rubs over his arm.

She grins a little at his self deprecation, but tells him, "I understand why you were, though. Especially now that I've experienced some of your Christmas traditions and everything you do here. It's beautiful."

"Then stay," he says then, chipping at the armor around her soul.

"Robin, I..."

"Sorry, didn't mean to rush you. There's still time. I just want to make sure you're still... considering it."

"I'm still considering it," she assures him, and cements the statement by kissing him, a brief peck on the lips that has him smiling against her when they part.

And then he moves to stand, and she pouts, asks him, "Where are you going?"

"To get you some water, you must be thirsty—"

"Don't go," she pleads, punctuating her request with a line of kisses up his chest.

He groans, but seeks out her lips and lingers, his lips warm and soft against hers.

She whispers "Stay," kissing him again, and she can feel his resolve crumbling, smiles triumphantly when he groans and sinks back into her embrace, holding her close and closing his eyes, searching for a few more minutes of sleep.

Regina sighs happily, and trails a final little cluster of kisses over his chest before she, too, settles back down into the warmth of their bed, sleep finding her again almost instantly.

When she wakes up again an hour later, it's to the frantic vibrations of her phone. Reality calling, no doubt. But she's not exactly ready to head back to it yet, wants to remain here, in this little snow globe full of Robin and winter and Christmas for a little while longer, so she ignores it, searches blindly for the device and hits the button on the side to stop the vibrations, leaving it face-down on the bedside table and slowly opening her eyes to take in her current position in Robin's arms.

He's snoring away still, curled up behind her with his arm over her, his hand holding her breast, thumb pressed against her nipple. It takes every ounce of effort in her to not laugh at his slumbering antics, and after a few indulgent moments of just feeling him, warm and solid behind her, she gingerly extricates herself from his hold, making sure he's not disturbed while she puts on her red and black flannel PJs and leaves the room, taking care to close the door as quietly as she can behind her.

"Hi, Regina!"

Roland's chipper voice is an unexpected noise in the squeaky quiet of the inn, and Regina jumps, gasping, her hand flying to her chest.

"Sorry," he cringes, realizing he's scared her.

"It's alright," she assures him, though she's still catching her breath. "What are you doing up so early?"

"It's Christmas card day," he says, like it's obvious, and then at her confused look, he sighs, explains, "Every year we pick a day to make Christmas cards for the guests. Auntie Tink and Daddy always help me, but Daddy's room is closed and Auntie Tink said not to wake her until the big hand was on the 12 and the little hand was on the 9."

He looks forlornly at the clock then, like the 7:45 on it is mocking him. Regina chuckles, because he is absolutely adorable, and crouches down to look straight at him before she speaks. Robin's room is closed because he's currently sleeping in Regina's bed upstairs, but she makes sure to omit that small detail when she offers her services.

"I'm sure your father and Tink will be up and about very soon" she explains first, "but in the meantime, maybe I can help you? If you want?"

His eyes widen at that, and he beams as he asks "Really?!" then cheers when she nods in answer. Her phone is still up in her room, probably blowing up with silent calls and texts. She knows Mal will kill her for arriving late to set today, but as Roland drags her by the hand into the spacious living room, and excitedly shows her all his colorful paper and trimmings, Regina knows whatever bitchy comments her director will have for her will be more than worth it, after starting the morning with crafts and those dimples.

* * *

...::...

Robin wakes alone, and one slit-eyed look at the clock tells him it's 8:15AM. Later than his usual, though in his defense, he'd woken up earlier with Regina, but he hadn't been ready to let her go, and she'd been very convincing when asking him to stay, what with those tempting lips and her bare skin pressing close to him like that...

Speaking of Regina, her side of the bed is cold, the soft sheets and pillow a terrible replacement for the inviting warmth of her body, and Robin wonders where she could be.

Work, probably, they start filming very early these days.

Yawning, he stretches on the bed, feeling his limbs crack and loosen pleasantly as he indulges on memories of Regina's body writhing under his tongue last night.

He never thought this is where they'd end up, but he doesn't regret a thing.

In fact, he wants to see her, wants to sneak her into a secluded corner and kiss the hell out of her, and that thought enough shoots enough energy through him to get out of bed and pull on his clothes from the night before. He's not exactly thrilled about having to walk-of-shame himself in his own establishment, but then an image of her face, eyes shut and mouth dropping in ecstasy, remind him that it was definitely worth it.

To his surprise, she's still at the Sherwood. He hears her when he walks down the stairs, and the conversation he's about to interrupt hits his heart so hard he decides to stay in the shadows, unseen by her and Roland as they continue talking.

"But she's not here, I don't know why Daddy always tells me to make her one, she can't see it, it's silly," he hears Roland say, and peeks his head around the threshold to watch them.

He's sitting in Regina's lap, pouting down at a sheet of green cardstock paper, his little arms crossed over his chest.

"It's not silly, sweetheart," she tries, but Roland interrupts her.

"Yes it is. She's dead, I can't give it to her, I don't want to make it," he shoots back.

"Roland," she starts. "Just because she's not here doesn't mean she can't see you."

That gives the boy pause, has him turning to look at her and ask, "What do you mean?"

"Well, your Aunt Tink and your Daddy always tell you that your Mommy is an angel, right? That she watches over you?" she asks, and Roland nods, protests that _Heaven is too high up in the sky, she can't really see the card from there_ , but Regina continues. "Well, angels have magic. They're not up in heaven all the time, they come to visit. We can't see them, but they come to visit all the time. Especially at Christmas."

"Really?" he presses, and his tone has picked up a bit, less sad, more interested.

"Really. In fact, I'm sure your Mommy loves the cards you make her, and she'd be very sad if you didn't make her one this year."

"I don't want her to be sad," Roland says, looking positively bereft at the idea.

"Then let's make her the most amazing Christmas card ever," Regina suggests, and he perks up immediately, grabs that green cardstock and his markers and asks her to please draw a Christmas tree so he can decorate it.

Robin stands there, still hidden by the stairs, occasionally peeking at them, watching the way they interact with one another. She holds the boy tighter when he's particularly adorable, plays with his hair while she watches him glue tinsel and colorful plastic gemstones to his tree, and even helps him write _'To Mommy, From Roland'_ at the very top of the card, taking his hand and guiding his into the shape of each letter.

"Regina?" Roland asks, concentrated on his card, his gaze still trained on the golden star sticker he's trying to place at the very top of his tree.

"Yes, Roland?"

And all Robin can do is smile, resisting the tears that build up in his eyes when his son looks at Regina and tells her, "I think Mommy will be very happy that you're here."

He hears the hitch in her breath, the almost pitchy way in which she thanks him, and Robin leaves them to their crafts for a few more minutes before he walks into the living room, beaming at them both as he sits down to help.

"No, Daddy, we have a system," Roland protests, mimicking what Robin is sure are Regina's words, and he chuckles at his son's determined "You go get us hot cocoa while we finish."

"Yes, good idea, go get us hot cocoa," Regina agrees, throwing him a wink and a smile, and Robin is so absolutely smitten that he chooses not to sass her, walks himself to the kitchen with his cheeks aching from grinning so wide.

* * *

After the cards are done, and Regina has left (he'd thoroughly kissed her before she went on her way, had playfully cornered her by the back exit of the inn and snogged her good and proper before she walked out with a smile), Robin decides to spend the rest of the morning with his son. He walks with him to the door of every guest room, watching as Roland carefully slides the festive cards under the doors with excitement shining in his eyes. When that's done, his son's energy is so vibrant he decides maybe it's best spent outdoors.

They go to the park often this time of year, enjoy walks in the snow and build snowmen (or snow blobs, as Roland would have it) for fun rather than competition, even engage in snowball fights with some of the children there, and today feels like a good day to do just that, so he bundles up his little boy, then throws his own coat on, and they walk out the front door of the Sherwood, ready to have some fun.

And then everything unravels.

Blinding flashes and endless yelling accompany the incessant clicking of cameras, recorders and microphones being shoved in his way amidst the loud comments of _It's him!_ and _When did it start?!_ and _Have you slept together yet?!_

It's not until he feels Roland's tight grip that Robin snaps into action. He looks down at his frightened son as he hides behind his leg, calling "Daddy? Tell them to stop!" and decides enough is enough.

He crouches, picks up his boy and runs back into the inn, avoiding the reporters even as they climb up the front steps and try to barge their way into the Sherwood, shouting one impertinent question after the other and taking photos of his retreating back.

It's chaos. And he has no idea how to handle it, or what to do, or why it's even happening to begin with. His eyes are still seeing spots from all the flashes, Roland still shaken and confused at his side, and then Tink is there, brandishing her cell phone and rambling endlessly about stuff he can't quite make out, still a bit disoriented from the paparazzi attack outside.

"Stop, stop, stop," he begs his sister, taking a deep breath and asking, "What's happening?"

She stays quiet as she shoves her phone in his face, almost hitting his nose with the screen, and Robin has to grab her hand and pull it back enough for his eyes to focus, finally making out the image she's showing him.

It's a picture of him and Regina. Kissing. In her trailer.

Oh no.

A flashback of that night kicks in. Of her tears, her smile, that intimate moment in her trailer before they kissed... and Sidney, running into them just outside as they'd finally left to join the others.

Anger unlike anything Robin's ever felt before courses through his veins, pumping strong and bitter as he barks "Take care of Roland" at Tink and heads back out.

He pushes through, elbowing people left and right, trying so hard to resist biting back at the awful questions. They ask him if Regina has a relationship with Roland, ask him what his dead wife would think of the new mother he's found for his son, ask him if he's moving to LA, if he has acting aspirations of his own, and all the while the flashes are going off, cameras clicking and clicking as he swims against the tide, and all the while the one thing he can think of is Regina, how accosted she must be feeling right now, how worried. He fears she'll panic, that she'll run, and the thought sits heavy in his belly the entire time, until he finally makes it to his car, jumping in and speeding off before the vultures can reach him.

He needs to find her.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Wooo almost there! I think we only have one more chapter after this one, so I hope you like it!_**

* * *

 _NEW ROMANCE BREWING FOR REGINA MILLS ON SET OF NEW MOVIE!_

The headline slices through her like a knife, the words bold and yellow under a photo of her and Robin kissing in her trailer. She cannot believe this is happening.

And then, as if the realization of how she's ruined Robin's life wasn't enough, a video surfaces on the web, of Robin and Roland attempting to leave the Sherwood and looking rattled when they encounter the mob of paparazzi outside. Roland looks downright scared, hiding behind Robin's leg as the reporters ask all the inappropriate questions, microphones and recorders floating on the bottom of the screen as father and son make a hasty retreat, back into the safety of the inn.

God, this never should've happened.

It was Sidney, of course it was, she remembers him now, sneering at her like he'd won some sort of game she had no idea they were playing. And now Robin is a target, someone else to add to the list of people who've been hurt by her.

"Regina!" she hears him, turns hastily to find him running towards her, and she smacks right into his chest as he hugs her, holding her close as he whispers _I'm sorry_ over and over.

"Why are _you_ sorry? Robin you had no part in this. It's my fault, I shouldn't have dragged you into this."

"Dragged me? Regina, there's nothing wrong with wanting us to be together," he tells her, sounding so sure it almost shakes her resolve to end this. But she has to. For his sake.

"Roland looked so scared," she says then, her voice breaking, and he holds her tighter, assures her that his son is okay, that he's home, that he's safe.

"Yes, but that won't always be the case, Robin. Not if I'm around. And I can't... I can't do that to you."

He pulls back from her then, looks her in the eye and asks, "What are you saying?"

They're being watched by Mal and Mary Margaret, not to mention half the crew that waits for Regina to be ready to film, and she shouldn't do this, not here, in front of everyone, but then, that might be what sells it, right?

So she steels herself for what she's about to do, stands rigid before him and fights back tears as she tells him, "I'm saying that this is my life, and I don't want you to have any part in it."

"But... but last night—"

"Last night was wonderful, and I don't regret it, but I refuse to have you and Roland dealing with these tabloids and their carnage. Nothing else can ever happen between us, Robin, I'm sorry."

She turns and leaves with that, giving him no chance for rebuttal other than his broken "Regina, wait, please. Regina!" as she walks away. A deep breath, a clenching of her fists, and finally she lets the tears fall, now that he can't see them. The set is silent, everyone stopped in their tracks, watching her. The only sound throughout is the echo of Robin's retreating footsteps, and then the sob that breaks out of her when the door closes and he's gone.

Mary Margaret is instantly there, throwing her arms around Regina and hugging her tightly, one hand rubbing over her head as she whispers words of comfort. That it's okay. That she'll be fine. It'll all blow over soon. It'll be fine.

"Alright, let's take five, everyone, go have some coffee or something while we sort this out," Regina hears Mal yell in the background, and then both women are dragging Regina away, until they find her trailer and usher her inside.

"You slept with him," Mal says, doesn't ask.

Regina nods once in answer, then again when Mary adds, "And you fell for him, didn't you?"

Anything Regina tries to say when she speaks comes out as a nonsensical blubber, her sobs getting the best of her and tears smudging makeup around her eyes. She sees her stained cheeks in the mirror, sees how pathetic she looks, watery gaze and heartbroken pout, and she can't find the words to explain just how much it _hurts_ , isn't even sure she can explain _why_ it hurts. She has feelings for him, yes, but she hadn't realize quite how strong those feelings were until she hacked away at the hope that had been shining in his eyes just now.

Mal and Mary are talking, arguing. Mal insists it's better this way, that now Robin and Roland won't have to deal with the unwanted attention, that they'll be safer this way, happier, but Mary Margaret rebuts her, insists that Robin won't care about the paps if he shares Regina's sentiments, if he's willing to explore whatever it is they feel for each other.

"That doesn't matter," Regina says, her voice surprisingly steady, her tone grim. "It's over, it's done, and Mal's right, it's safer this way. He was upset about us disrupting his holiday, how do you think he's going to feel when my life disrupts _every_ aspect of his? No, it's better like this."

And for the next two days, she tries to believe those words, avoids eye contact with Robin when she passes him in the halls of the Sherwood. She avoids Roland, too, though thankfully he doesn't think anything of it, merely pouts when he's told she has work to do and accepts her offers to meet up later, though she never delivers.

It kills her, disappointing the little boy, leaving early so that she won't run into his father; she even escapes from Tink, hurries away from her whenever they happen to bump into each other in this too-small town, and the pain of it all burns so deep Regina's not sure she'll ever feel okay again.

The reporters don't stop, however. Stay outside the Sherwood as a constant reminder of why she's doing this, why she can't allow Robin to get closer. They ask her if she'll be moving to Storybrooke now, if Walsh is aware of her new relationship, if she's with Robin because she truly wants to or if it was a requirement in order to gain the reluctant mayor's approval for filming. She rolls her eyes at all of them, throws glares at Sidney and even promises him he'll be sorry for what he's done, when he has the gall to ask how she's feeling since he did her the "favor" of letting it all out in the open.

"What are you going to do, Ms. Mills? Sue me?" he taunts, because he knows she'd never win. Judges tend to look the other way when invasion of privacy cases involve a celebrity. All it would do is make her an even bigger target for people like Sidney.

The camera flashes follow her around, but more importantly, they follow _Robin_ around, reporters stalking his every move during his daily routine, accosting him and Roland as they try to take a stroll around the park, or while they shop for groceries, they've even followed him into Granny's bakery, where he's sought shelter and a hiding place from their antics. Regina watches it all unfold in numerous videos on her phone, and doesn't offer anything besides "We have to be patient, it'll pass" when Tink asks her what they can do to make it stop.

She doesn't speak to Robin, but pines after him. Sighs deeply when he walks by, her chest nearly splitting open with hurt when she sees that dejected look in his eyes as he murmurs a greeting.

Four days later, the number of reporters posted outside the Sherwood and the set has doubled, and the popularity of the story doesn't seem to stop growing. She's been quiet and demure on the outside, ignoring the jabs and impertinent queries from the vultures, but inside, she's screaming, agonizing, hating herself more and more because she doesn't know how to fix this.

It's during this little internal meltdown, when she's at her wit's end, that she gets a very unexpected offer from Walsh.

They're on set, on a break between scenes, and the town surrounds the area, everyone watching happily as the movie making magic unfolds. Everyone, that is, except Robin and Roland. Their usual spots by the ice rink are empty, and it hurts her more than she's willing to admit.

"We need to talk," Walsh says.

"What about?" she asks, pretending to be oblivious, but he's giving her a knowing look, shaking his head with a sigh as he sits next to her on the bench where they're supposed to be rehearsing their scene.

He pulls out his phone, shakes his hair a little in the wind as he searches for something on the device, and then he turns the screen to her to present a photo of them, his lips on her cheek in and her eyes closed as she smiles. It's an old photo, from months and months ago, one that never made it to social media, never left his phone.

"Let me use it," he says, and she frowns.

"Use it?"

"You're hurting, babe. And the fact that Robin is hurting is making it worse for you. I post this on my Instagram with some cryptic caption and those reporters will be following _me_ all over the place, not him or his kid."

"Don't pretend to be noble, Walsh, it doesn't suit you," Regina refutes with a roll of her eyes. "You'd only be doing this for yourself. Not for me or for Robin."

"I'll admit I'm partial to getting something out of it for my benefit, and a little exposure in the media would do me a lot of good right now," he gives, smiling a little before his expression turns serious again. "But Regina, you're first and foremost my friend. Always have been. I want to help ease your mind, and sadly there isn't much I can do to make that happen. But this, this is an option."

He sounds sincere, and the way he's holding her hand as he talks is reassuring, even if she doesn't fully believe it just yet. He can tell, though, and sighs before he insists, "Regina, it's clear you have feelings for the guy, I'm not looking to get back into a relationship with you, PR or not. In fact, I say you should pursue whatever it is you have with him."

"But the media—"

"Fuck the media," he interrupts.

"I don't want to expose him to this life, he has a son to think about," Regina snaps.

"A son who loves you, and you love that kid, too, you'd never hurt him, and I'm sure Robin knows that."

She turns away from him then, resisting the tears now brimming. Walsh scoots closer, his grip on her hand tightening in comfort as he tells her, "You've spent so much time pushing people away it's become your default, Regina. For once just do what makes you happy. If he is what you want, then go after him, the photo would just be a distraction, something to keep those scavengers occupied while you figure things out between you."

It surprises her, how he seems to truly want her happiness, the easy way in which he releases her from any of the consequences tied to the photo and merely offers it to her as a way to help. She agrees to let him post the photo, if only so the paparazzi stop following Robin and Roland everywhere. She's not sure about the rest of it, but she knows she wants that much, at least. She wants them to have their best shot at normalcy, at having the Christmas celebration they're accustomed to, without her disaster of a life getting in the way.

The photo goes up, making her belly flutter with nerves, and the comments and likes start flooding in almost immediately, an overwhelming amount of fans instantly proclaiming their excitement over the image. Walsh's caption says nothing of the sort, and only an innocent "Christmas in Storybrooke" accompanies the photo, but it's enough to have everyone speculating, some asking in the comments if they're back together, others going as far as to automatically assume that the photo must mean they're engaged.

It's the exact result she was hoping for, and after a half hour she starts hearing voices outside the set, getting louder and louder as more reporters arrive, all of them brandishing their cameras and calling out for Walsh and Regina.

"There," Walsh says with a laugh, "that should free up the Sherwood front lawn for a while."

His arm is around her shoulders, and he gives her a gentle squeeze before he stands from the bench, stopping on his way out to tell her, "Be happy, babe, you deserve it," and then yelling out an "Okay, okay, here I am, guys!" to the reporters, acting his ever charming self as he waves at the crowd.

His last words of advice stick with Regina throughout the day, have her thinking, considering the idea of jumping and grabbing hold of the joy life has chosen to dangle in front of her with Robin and this town. But it's not until later that night, when she talks to Mary Margaret about everything, that Regina finds herself truly convinced.

She's chosen to spend the night in her trailer, and Mary has shown up with wine and a glare, demanding an explanation for the stunt. They're half a bottle in (and halfway through a very stern talking-to from Mary) when Regina finally relates her conversation with Walsh from that afternoon.

"Huh... the great and powerful Walsh has a soft side. Didn't see that coming," she admits, her ire disappearing almost completely. Regina gives her a pointed look.

"I've always told you he was a good friend, you just never believed me," she reminds, and Mary shrugs.

"You forget I dealt with all the behind the scenes disaster that was your crazy relationship. I don't hate him, but I was never a big fan."

Regina hums, taking another sip of her prosecco and looking out the window. Snow has started to fall, and her mind immediately jumps back to Roland building that blob, to the expression on Robin's face when he'd watched her run around in outside with his son just a couple of weeks ago, when there was nothing between them but innocent touches and flirty looks, when this heartache wasn't poisoning the very air they breathe.

"I think you should do it," Mary says then, and Regina chokes on her wine.

"Excuse me?!" she sputters.

"You heard me," Mary confirms. "At least this way you'd get to actually enjoy being with Robin, instead of pining for him whenever he walks by."

"I'm not pining," Regina defends petulantly.

"Yes, you are," her friend says, her voice kind even as she calls her out for her recent behavior. "I saw the way you teared up just last night when he said hello to me."

Regina sighs then, resigned, and admits, "I really screwed up this time."

"You're scared to let him in, I get that. You've been scared since Daniel died, afraid that somehow history would repeat itself if you were to fall for someone else. But if you feel something for Robin, Regina, you owe it to yourself to try."

"He has a child, a life, all I've done is mess with it, with his privacy, his traditions, his heart... I don't deserve— "

"Regina, I've seen what life has thrown at you, and you still fight against the sadness every single day, so don't tell me you don't deserve Robin, that you don't deserve to be loved. Sooner or later, your heart will find its way to happiness."

Regina scoffs a little, tears rolling down her cheeks as she says, "That doesn't feel possible."

The phrase seems to shake Mary Margaret, has her placing their near-empty glasses on the coffee table and clasping both of Regina's hands in her own as she insists, "But it is. I know you, and you feel things _deeply_. You feel things with your whole soul. If Robin is what you want, go after him. Don't let anything hold you back."

Regina has never been one for hope speeches, but for some reason, Mary's clicks, unlocks this... this _thing_ inside her that floods her with warmth, with conviction, with determination.

She's done pushing Robin away. Pushing love away. If they still have a chance, she wants it.

So without so much as a goodbye, Regina leaves Mary Margaret sitting on the couch, ignores the excited, smug smile she gives her as she grabs her coat, and then walks out into the snowy night, ready to find him.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Here we go! Last chapter!**_

 _ **Thanks so much to everyone who stuck it out with me in this story even though it was so delayed and went on well after Christmas, I'm so glad you felt it was worth it to keep reading and continue to support my writing.**_

 _ **I'll be focusing on Tethered and a couple of Madam President verse prompts I have, as well as my piece for the OQ Valentine's Day Gift Exchange project AND my new AU, which should be coming very, very soon!  
**_

 _ **As always leave a review and tell me what you thought of the chapter. Hope you all enjoy!**_

* * *

Taking the evening off was a bad idea.

Tink had insisted, though, had told him she'd take care of dinner and bedtime with Roland so that Robin could have some time to breathe and relax. Except he's been doing everything but that.

It's torture just thinking about it, about the way Regina had just walked away from him after telling him she wanted no part of whatever it was that was brewing between them. And he knows, he knows she's doing this to protect him, but he can't force her to explore their connection, and he won't convince her to give them a chance when she's so hellbent on putting distance between them.

Still, he'd decided to fight for her, for them, to track her down after a few days of grace and talk to her until she admitted the real reason behind her hesitance. He would soothe her with kisses and tell her he'd want nothing more than she can give.

And then that photo had been posted.

He'd spent the whole day trying to make sense of things, to find a way to get her to understand that he was all in, and then the alert he'd embarrassingly put into his phone for articles about Regina had gone off on his phone, showing him the image that had broken his heart completely.

Walsh, grinning and looking so very pleased with himself. Regina, happy and latched onto his side, her lips puckered in a kiss against his cheek. The caption reads _Christmas in Storybrooke_ , and the comments are all from fans celebrating their reunion, asking for details on a future wedding, demanding that Walsh upload even more photos of them together.

Robin has never felt so used.

It's clear now, she never wanted to be with him, he was just a distraction to her, and that's fine, they never agreed to be exclusive, he just has to give up now and stop trying to make something happen when Regina is clearly taken.

It's like ice is piercing his heart, the cold pain of it embedding itself in his skin, his soul, and the urge he has to cry out in anger dwindles into desolation, into acceptance that he's lost, that he'll never have her back. It's over.

He drinks himself into a stupor, drowning his sorrows like the pathetic sod that he is, and stumbles into the couch in the living room of the Sherwood, passing out almost instantly.

He hears voices, whispers from his sister and... John?

Great, now Regina will surely hear of his blatant display of stupidity.

Sighing his frustration, Robin opens his eyes (regrets that decision immediately, his hangover sledgehammering away at his head), finding no one in his line of sight. They're in the kitchen, he realizes, talking in hushed tones and discussing everything that's happened today.

"I cannot _believe_ she had the gall to do something like this," Tink says.

"I'm sure she had her reasons," John defends.

"Reasons?! She toyed with my brother's feelings! Made him think there was more between them than some fling and now she's back with that... that charlatan?!" Tink responds, bristled, and Robin knows that tone of voice well. John will get yelled at in no time if he's not careful.

Robin sighs again. He really, really doesn't want to hear about this.

Looking down at his wrists with scrunched eyes, he sees he's only been asleep for a couple of hours. It's still fairly early (how did he ever think getting drunk before it's even dinnertime was a good idea?), but he has no desire to engage them, or to even acknowledge how he feels right now, so instead of alerting him to the end of his drunken nap, he rolls out of the couch and slowly makes his way out of the living room, dragging one of the cushions with him, though he has no idea why.

After he's brushed his teeth and washed his face to deem himself somewhat presentable, the tired haze of drink and sleep still clouds his vision. He's bleary-eyed and tired, and everything looks foggy, like it's somehow part of a dream rather than the painful reality he's currently living in, but he notices things, little things, that tell him he's definitely awake, that this is all definitely real.

Like the magazine in the foyer, for example, with Regina's face on the front page. He remembers them both looking through the spread, laughing and flirting while an oblivious Roland pointed out his favorite images in the photoshoot.

God, he misses her. And it's ridiculous, they had one night together, how can he be pinning so much for someone he so recently befriended? Someone who three weeks ago was getting on his last nerve when she'd walked into that bakery and treated him like a servant?

But she'd also apologized later, blushed prettily as she admitted her screw-up, and _that_ is what Robin remembers most of the entire altercation, how beautiful she'd looked as she sheepishly asked for his forgiveness, how her smile had reached her eyes at last when he'd offer to start over...

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, he tells himself. It'll be over. They wrap her movie early in the morning, and then she'll go home to LA and they can both forget about each other, about the promise of spending this holiday together, of exploring what was flourishing between them.

Tomorrow it all ends, and he can go back to a life that no longer feels as fulfilling as it once did.

But he'll have to make do. He'll take comfort in time spent with his son, in the affection he has for this town, for its people. And little by little, Robin knows he'll find his routine again, just as he desired the moment Regina arrived in Storybrooke. The thought would give him comfort if he hadn't grown addicted to her particular brand of interruption.

A growl disrupts his thoughts, and it takes him a few seconds in his haze to realize that it came from his stomach. Right. Food. He should grab something before he goes to bed.

Except Tink and John are still talking in the kitchen, and when he walks back in and they notice his state, his sister throws a disapproving glance his way.

"Not now, sis," he begs. "Please, just leave me be."

"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" she answers, sarcasm dripping into her every word before she rails on him. "What the hell were you thinking, Robin?!"

"You told me I could have a night off—" he starts, but her ire interrupts him.

"Yes, to think! To process! Not to down every bottle of whiskey in town!"

"Stop exaggerating," Robin intervenes. "And besides, I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache, but that will go away once I eat, so if you would kindly step away from the fridge, I'd appreciate it."

She stays quiet, but glares at him as she moves. John has said nothing, sitting quietly in one of the stools by the counter as he watches the scene unfold, and Robin cannot stand feeling the man's eyes on him.

"You have something to say?" he throws at him, standing between the fridge and its open door, looking at the contents instead of directly at John.

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "I wish things had worked out with you guys."

Oh.

"Thanks," answers Robin, doing nothing to hide the surprise in his tone.

"For what it's worth, I really do think she cares for you," John says just as Robin is pulling out some cold cuts to snack on.

He scoffs at John, biting into an olive and closing the fridge door with a kick that may have been just a little too rough.

"Watch it!" Tink warns. "The fridge didn't break your heart, Regina did."

The mention of her name pierces through him, a needle in the already bleeding wound of his soul as he catches his sister's wince at her own words, Robin straightens, grabs his food with defiance, and walks away.

And then the food almost falls to the floor. Because there, on the inn's foyer, is Regina, covered in snow and smiling tearily at him.

Robin is shocked, to say the least.

The small tray of cheese and prosciutto he'd grabbed to feed himself is now abandoned on the coffee table, his hunger and hangover both forgotten, and he can't utter anything beyond a shocked whisper of "Regina?"

"Hi," is all she says, then looks behind him at John and Tink and requests, "Can we speak in private?"

"I'm surprised you want privacy, considering all you've done publicly," Tink fires her way, and that jumpstarts Robin into action, or at the very least, makes him turn around and give his sister a look.

"Come on, Sprite," John says then, sensing the tension in the room. "Let's go check on the kid."

He half-drags her out of the room, leaving Robin alone with Regina, and he should be angry, should be throwing backhanded comments her way just like his sister just did, but all he can do instead is drink in the sight of her, stare and stare as he commits every part of her to memory, knowing it'll be the last time she's ever in his presence.

"So?" he asks, and she opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to find the words.

"I—" she starts, but he interrupts.

"I know," he informs her. "You're sorry."

"No, that's... I mean, yes, of course, I'm very sorry for everything that's happened, for what you had to endure with those reporters, but that's not why I came here."

"Then why are you here?" Robin asks, and watches as she takes a deep breath, her hands lacing together in front of her.

"I realized something today," she says nervously, and he frowns, waiting for her to continue.

"All this time, I've been running away, refusing to truly embrace things between us because I couldn't bear the thought of losing someone else. But... I want this, Robin. I want you."

She smiles expectantly, exhales loudly and looks at him with this spark in her eyes, like he's about to surrender to her charms and accept being a second course in the endless meal of her affections.

"Say something, please," she requests, when his silence has stretched on for several seconds, and Robin sighs, already so tired of all this.

"What are you really doing here, Regina?" he asks, one hand rising and settling on the back of his neck, scratching there as he waits for her answer.

"I told you," she insists, "I'm here for you."

"You want no part of me in your life, you were very clear about that just a few days ago."

"I... changed my mind," she says, "and I realize that sounds like the actions of a spoiled girl on a whim but—"

"You have some nerve," he snaps. "You barge into this town, bending everything to your will, you charm me _and_ my son, deceive us into thinking you might want more than just..." he trails off, frustrated, the hand on his nape moving to his face, rubbing it up and down as he tries to calm his latent anger. "You used me, Regina. You used all of us, and then you come here, and have the nerve to tell me that you want me, while the whole world is celebrating your reunion with Walsh?"

She gasps, shaking her head. "Oh, no. No, no, Robin, we're—"

"I won't stand in the way of your movie, I know you're doing your last scene tomorrow in the town square, just before the festival of lights. You won't get any protesting from me, I promise, but I beg you, leave me be. Drop this pretense that you care, we both know that's not the case."

And at that, she has the gall to laugh, a breathy chuckle that is at odds with the way she looks down and shakes her head, then tells him, "Walsh and I aren't together."

Robin feels the way his heart skips a beat at the words, his breathing growing more shallow as he asks, "Excuse me?"

"That photo is not what you think. He posted it so that the photographers would follow him around and stop accosting you and Roland. He was doing me a favor, Robin."

That's... not what he expected. Though it certainly explains why the reporters suddenly stopped camping outside the Sherwood earlier today.

And he tries (god, he tries) to keep that spark of hope hidden inside him, to not let it betray him and form words he's not ready to say just yet, but it's like his heart has taken over, making him mumble, "So, what went on between us—"

"Was real," Regina cuts in, smiling as she cradles his cheek. "My feelings for you were— _are_ real."

His hands have moved of their own accord, settling on her waist like they were meant to hold her, attracted like magnets to the shape of her body.

She's looking at him, studying his reaction as she says, "And if you'll have me, I would like to stay with you for Christmas, and attend the Snow Ball... as your date."

"Are you... are you sure?" he stutters, rendered a bumbling idiot by her beauty and the conviction in her voice.

She's nodding, tells him, "I... I don't know where this will lead, Robin. My life is... well, you've seen it. And it gets worse, with the paparazzi and the scrutiny. I fear for you, for Roland, for everyone who gets close to me, but you make me feel safe, and cherished, and brave, and... happy. I want to be happy with you."

Her statement echoes in his mind, bounces against the walls of his broken heart, mending it, sealing each of the cracks with her name as her smile makes him whole again.

Robin smiles back, feeling every bit like a silly schoolboy for the way his eyes water just a little as it finally sinks in that she wants this. Truly.

He kisses her then, crashes their mouths together and steals the breath right out of her as he hugs her, his arms winding around her to hold her tight against his body. His tongue savors her, tasting that spice, that fire that had drawn him in like a moth, burning bright in the feel of her, all soft curves and eager lips pressed against him.

"You'll stay?" he asks when they part, holding her face in his hands and running his thumbs over her cheeks to wipe away a few stray, happy tears.

Regina nods, confirms, "I'll stay. That is, if Roland and your sister are okay with it. Tink seems pretty mad."

"She'll come around once we explain about the photo," Robin assures her, grinning still.

"And you?" she asks. "Are you sure this is what you want? I'll have to go back to LA eventually, and you have a life here, we can't just abandon that. And what about Roland? What will this look like to him?"

He leans in at that, brushes the tip of her nose with his own as he brings his forehead down to hers. "It's gonna look like a messy, complicated situation," he admits, "but the best example I can set for my son is to follow my heart. To you. I'm sure of us, Regina. This is what I want."

He kisses her, tastes her lips again and the salt of the tears that coat them, his hands cradling her neck.

When they part, she's smiling up at him, and in an instant he's running outside, pulling her along with her hand held in his. Snow falls heavily as night stretches on, covering every surface with a thick curtain of white that reflects every twinkling light decorating the inn.

They're blessedly alone, and she's laughing in his arms, holding on to him as he spins them around, kicking up snow in their wake. She's still wearing her jacket and hat, but Robin himself is wearing nothing but his hoodie and jeans, and she notices, runs her hands down his arms and asks amid her laughter, "We should go back in. Aren't you cold?"

He pulls her closer, brushing the tip of his nose against hers, and the truth is that yes, he's a little chilly, but with her here, cozy and stunning and _his_ , Robin can only smile and say "I'm alright, but you can always warm me up."

She snickers in response, but kisses him just as he desired, with heat and purpose, contrasting the soft, cold droplets of snowflakes landing on his skin and chasing away the chill that had been seeping into his body.

"So," she starts, smiling as her arms mimic his and wrap around his waist. "What are you asking Santa for this year?"

Her nose is adorably tinted in pink, her curls dusted with snowflakes, eyes deep and brown and honest in their affection for him. A vision, his every wish manifested in a swirl of wintery air and rosy cheeks. All he wants is to wake up to her, to hold her, kiss her, make love to her, to wake up on Christmas morning with her in his arms, ready for a new adventure.

"Hmm... I wouldn't be opposed to a certain fairy tale queen, naked and gorgeous in my bed," he teases, leaning in to peck her lips. "What about you?"

Regina chuckles, shaking her head, and then she thinks for a bit, as if trying to decide on her wording of her response. Robin takes advantage of the moment to look at her, take in the beauty of her, and then kisses her lips when she finally gives him her answer.

"I already have everything I need."

-THE END-


End file.
